


mosaic

by ADreamingSongbird



Series: if we want to, we could do what kings do [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, TRFLverse, Trans Katsuki Yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-02-26 08:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13232247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamingSongbird/pseuds/ADreamingSongbird
Summary: mosaic(mə(ʊ)ˈzeɪɪk)nouna picture or pattern produced by arranging together small pieces of stone, tile, glass, etc."the mosaics on the interior are over five hundred years old."They say we are a sum total of every experience of our lives.  There are always more secrets under the surface, more shadows behind every light, more moments forgotten and left by the wayside.Here are some of them.(A collection of side stories from my ficThe Rules For Lovers.)





	1. dancing bears, painted wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri dances with someone who's only a little bit terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this little scene is a christmas/new year/holiday-in-general present for my absolutely amazing and wonderful and hilarious and brilliant friend allison adjitay!!! i love u al i hope u enjoy this ♥
> 
> plotwise, this ficlet takes place in the middle of chapter 8, sometime before its final two scenes.
> 
> it also has matching [art by riki](https://rikichie.tumblr.com/post/169192297457/this-art-accompanies-this-fic-rimi-wrote-for-our)!!!!!

It’s funny, Yuuri thinks, that even someone who grew up in the glamor and splendor of a royal life can still find a grand ballroom beautiful.  Surely he ought to be used to this by now.

But the huge, crystal chandelier glimmers and throws exuberant light across the floor and the walls, reflected a hundred times more in the rows of huge windows that display the night sky, and the light is so golden it feels richer than the treasury.  The carvings on the walls, too, are so intricate they might be dizzying, set with gemstones and gold leaf, detailed to the point that he almost wants to take off his glasses so he doesn’t have to see the ballroom in such high definition.

(He kissed Viktor’s nose last week.  That’s the closest they’ve had to a real kiss.  Viktor kissed his head, and he kissed Viktor’s nose.)

The hand guiding him at the small of his back is warm, comforting and solid, and Yuuri glances a little shyly up at Viktor, almost as if his beauty is too much to look at directly.  He’s like the sun.  It would be blinding.

Viktor catches his eye and smiles, dazzling as always.  “Are you tired?  We can sit down for a while if you are.”

“I’m alright,” Yuuri assures, idly twirling his glass of champagne between his fingers.  Viktor nods, accepting that answer, and looks like he’s considering saying something more, leaning in a little closer, but then thinks better of it and stops himself.  Yuuri quashes a pang of disappointment that the leaning-in wasn’t for another little hair-kiss and covers it up with, “Are you?”

“Maybe a little,” Viktor admits, his eyes sparkling wryly.  There’s a light flush dusted across his cheeks, from both the alcohol and the dancing; something stirs deep in Yuuri’s stomach at the thought that nobody else knows about the very light freckles dusted across those cheeks, too, under the makeup.  They’re his little secret, a part of Viktor only people close to him get to see.  “I’m an old man, Yuuri.  I want to go to bed early and pet my dog, not party late into the night.”

Yuuri laughs and playfully swats his arm, though he’s careful to keep the motion small and polite because they’re not alone.  “You’re twenty-seven!”

“Yura would say that that’s old,” Viktor says, attempting to sound mournful but failing quite miserably, considering that Yuuri can still feel the warmth rolling off him in waves.  He feels content and happy right now, and there’s still that underlying pulse of _warm-safe-comfort-warm_ that gives Yuuri a fluttery feeling in his chest.

“Yura would say a lot of things,” Yuuri points out. “Besides, I don’t think even he would dare say that twenty-seven is old while in the same room as your mother.”

Viktor snorts.  “Point.”

They wander together, mingling with the crowd but maintaining their solidarity as a unit.  Yuuri appreciates the steadfast hand at the small of his back, a gentle but tangible reminder that no matter who in the court they end up talking to, Viktor is here with him, and he doesn’t have to deal with anyone alone.

 _I could kiss you for that,_ Yuuri catches himself thinking, and when he turns his head slightly, eyes immediately straying to Viktor’s pink lips, he has to swallow hard.

It’s… going to be a long night.

This, luckily, is a small party, at least; just a social ball more than anything.  The members of Ruthenia’s court swirl and dance and laugh their way through the glittering evening, without international politics to worry about (save Yuuri himself, the one representative of the elephant in the room).

He’s an other, in this court, and he knows it.  He will never truly be one of them.  But it will be alright—he can do this.  He can live with this the rest of his life, even though the idea of eternally being an outsider does hurt a little.

But he has Viktor, and he has Yura and Mila and Georgi, and he has Kenjirou, and Makkachin too.  He might not ever fit in with everyone at court, but he won’t be _alone._  It’s enough.  He can be content with this.

And then he thinks of the way Viktor held him all through the other night, thinks of the feeling of lips pressed to his hairline, and has to carefully remind himself to breathe.  Maybe he can be more than just content.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Viktor murmurs as they step away from the Vinogradovs, threading slowly through the crowd in the general direction of the refreshments table.  “You’re quiet.”

“Oh… I was just daydreaming,” Yuuri hums, a little bashful but hiding it.  What’s he supposed to say, _I was thinking about how nice you are and what a good friend you are and how good you are to me in general_?  How _embarrassing._

It’s better than _I was daydreaming about kissing you,_ he supposes, but not really by much.  He would actually die if he said that out loud.

“About what?” Viktor asks, as if he’s made it his personal job and goal to dig Yuuri’s grave and throw him in it, without even kissing him first.

“Oh, you know.”  Yuuri downs the rest of his champagne, blinking a few times as it burns down his throat, and then waves his hand airily.  “Things, that kind of stuff.”

Viktor’s brow furrows ever so slightly, confusion blurring across his mental landscape for a moment.  “Ah.”

Yuuri offers him a vapid smile to cover up the pounding of his own heart (it’s not _fair_ that Viktor is so pretty in his suit that shows off his broad shoulders and in that makeup that really brings out his sharp cheekbones and the blue of his eyes and—)

Someone, _please_ save him before he ruins a good friendship by trying to kiss the world’s most beautiful man breathless.

As if summoned by his internal plea, someone _does_ approach.

“Ah, there you two are,” a familiar and slightly terrifying voice says.  “Vitya, have you been trying to hoard Prince Katsuki all to yourself?”

Queen Vasilisa Nikiforova greets them, and they both immediately turn to face her, Yuuri’s insides also turning to ice for a moment.  She’s _nice,_ he reminds himself, looking up at her.  She has good taste in tea and shows him Viktor’s baby pictures.  She’s not going to kill him.

Probably.

“Mama!”  Viktor beams.  “I was just dancing with Yuuri a minute back, I wasn’t hiding him!  Besides, if he decides he likes staying with me, I can’t just send him away, can I?”

“Oh, of course not,” Queen Vasilisa agrees, rather wry.  “I suppose I shall have to exercise my executive power to steal him away from you for a dance, then, shan’t I?”

What.

“You can’t _steal_ him,” Viktor sighs.  “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to steal people, Mama?”

“Oh, of course,” the Queen says, amused.  “You’re right.  Prince Katsuki, _may_ I have this dance?”

“Ah, um, of course,” Yuuri manages, internally wincing.  Did he seriously just stammer?

The Queen holds out her hand, and Yuuri helplessly passes his empty glass to Viktor.  It’s not like he can get out of this, especially considering that he’s already accepted, so…

He places his hand atop hers and lets her lead him out to the edge of the dance floor, where a waltz has already started playing.  She smiles slightly, the corners of her mouth tugging up as if she’s somehow amused (maybe by how terrible he is at life in general) as she holds out her other hand to invite him into frame.  Yuuri steps into the follower’s position easily, his left hand resting delicately on the Queen’s upper arm while she takes his right.

Dancing with Queen Vasilisa is every bit as terrifying as talking to Queen Vasilisa, if not more so.  In fact, talking to her reminds Yuuri of a dance to begin with, so in a way, now he’s just acting out his own metaphor. 

She leads like a storm, leaning back and swaying in a prep-step to give him just an instant’s warning before she sweeps him away, twirling down the long wall of the ballroom.  In a fast waltz, there’s always an element of centripetal force as one twirls around their partner, and Yuuri makes sure to keep his arms up and his back, neck, and head all in a careful line.  The last thing he wants to do is look sloppy in front of the Queen. 

When she speaks, Yuuri is so startled out of his concentration bubble that almost trips over his own feet.  “You dance well, Prince Katsuki.”

“Ah, thank you,” he manages, heart pounding from more than just exertion.  The Queen leads him through a double reverse turn as they round a corner again, and Yuuri has to concentrate on the feeling of gravity rooting him to the floor, already a little dizzy from all the spinning.  That’s the problem with fast waltzes—in all his years of dancing, Yuuri has never managed to get through a full fast waltz without getting incredibly dizzy in the process, because unlike in ballet, there’s no spotting during turns in a fast waltz.

Which, frankly, is terrible, and if he ends up so dizzy at the end of this dance that he trips or stumbles in front of Queen Vasilisa, he is actually going to cry on the spot.  He’s sure of it.

They don’t talk much more for the rest of the waltz, too busy concentrating on their footwork.  Yuuri stares fixedly over the Queen’s shoulder as he’s supposed to, catching a blurred glimpse of Viktor at one point as they twirl past.  _Please save me,_ he wants to wail, because if he got dizzy while dancing with Viktor he could just lean on him and laugh, but even the idea of doing that with the Queen is nothing short of _terrifying,_ and…

No, he’s being ridiculous.  Besides, dancing with a good leader is _fun._   Or at least it’s supposed to be.  He should be enjoying this, not freaking out about how Viktor’s mother probably has the ability to kill him twenty times over concentrated entirely in her pinky finger alone.

Sucking in a deep breath, Yuuri remembers to smile as he dances and loses himself in the feeling of flying, twirling and curling around other couples on the floor with elegance and grace.  Queen Vasilisa _is_ an excellent leader, gliding the two of them away from potential floorcrafting disasters with ease, and she’s smiling as she dances too, the tiara nestled into her hair glimmering wildly under the lights from the chandelier.

When the waltz draws to a close, Yuuri is surprised to find that even though he’s breathing hard and dizzy, he actually had _fun._   The Queen laughs merrily as she leads him from the floor, and _she’s_ breathing hard too.  It’s like a reminder that she actually is human, too, one that Yuuri appreciates even more when he accidentally catches her gaze and she quirks a grin at him that’s so incredibly reminiscent of Viktor’s that he blinks in surprise.

“Thank you for the dance, Prince Katsuki!  I enjoyed it thoroughly.”

“Ah—thank you, Your Majesty,” Yuuri manages, still a little winded.  Awkwardly, he gives her a slight bow, hands clasped in front of his chest, then winces and carefully shifts his balance so he doesn’t fall over where he stands.  “I did as well.  You’re an excellent dancer yourself.”

The Queen’s smile turns a little sly.  “So, did Vitya tell you to ply me with compliments to make me less frightening, or did you decide to do that yourself?”

“Um,” Yuuri squeaks, and does not answer, which is probably answer enough.

Queen Vasilisa laughs, then offers him her arm.  “Come.  Would you care to join me for a drink?”

Resisting the urge to look around helplessly for Viktor, or even for Yuri, Yuuri nods, setting his hand into the crook of her elbow and letting her guide him toward the refreshment tables.  Why did he want to be saved from being with Viktor again?  What in the name of hell was wrong with him?  Daydreaming about kissing Viktor was so much easier than being afraid of accidentally insulting his mother.

A few moments later, he finds himself sitting at a small table near the alcoves, further away the dance floor, a glass of cold fruit juice in his hand as he sits across from the Queen.  He’s not entirely sure how he got here, but he figures he shouldn’t question it.  It was probably a series of more dazed nods.

“By the way,” the Queen muses, observing the next dance as she sips elegantly from her own glass.  “You are marrying my son in less than six months, Prince Katsuki.  I would be more than alright with it if you decide to drop the formalities.  You do not need to address me as ‘Your Majesty’ all the time.  You can just call me Vasilisa, if you like.”

Yuuri actually gapes for a second, all concept of manners, reputability, and dignity completely deserting him.  Even the _thought_ of calling her by her given name is… is… “I—but—Your Majesty, I could never—”

Queen Vasilisa laughs again, low and amused.  Her eyes twinkle merrily, and she shakes her head.  “It was just a suggestion, Your Highness.  You need not be so flustered by it.  If you prefer to maintain distance, that’s perfectly permissible as well.”

“Oh, I, um.  It’s… a sign of respect, Your Majesty,” Yuuri admits, ducking his head.  “I hold you in very high esteem.  To disregard your title seems, ah… presumptuous of me.  It’s not that I mean to be distant; I just don’t want to… I don’t want to act more familiar than I am.”

There’s something warm in both the Queen’s face and her emotions as she regards Yuuri across the table.  “May I call you Yuuri?”

Yuuri nods quickly.  “Of course.”

“Yuuri, then,” she says, then reaches over and lays her hand over his briefly.  Yuuri has to take a moment to scream internally, then yanks himself back to reality and this conversation.  “You’re going to be my son-in-law.  You’re already _very_ dear to my son.  You’ve been nothing but helpful when I’ve asked it of you, and you make him very happy.  As far as I’m concerned, you can act as familiar as you like.  Vitya has always wanted a larger family.”

Feeling vaguely as though he’s been hit by a flaming ten-ton truck, Yuuri nods, dazed.  Is… Did the Queen just basically tell him that he’s family in her eyes?  _Him?_   Even though…?

“Thank you,” Yuuri hears himself say, so honored that tears prick at his eyes, and he has to quickly blink them away.  Earlier he was thinking that he might never fit in, might never find a place here, and now the person he has been most desperately wanting to please directly tells him that she values him as family?  That’s… that’s so humbling that he’s dumbstruck.

“Of course, Yuuri.  Although if you don’t mind, I suppose I should call still call you Prince Katsuki in front of others,” the Queen adds, wry and calm as if she hasn’t just shaken the foundations of Yuuri’s entire world in this court.

“Yes, that’s fine,” he says absently, nodding.  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

A different-but-similar warm and soothing presence suddenly grows stronger as proximity increases, and the Queen looks up just as a hand plants itself on Yuuri’s shoulder.

“There you are!” Viktor says cheerfully.  “Mama, did you have to steal him and then hide, too?  I was looking for you!”

Queen Vasilisa arches an elegant eyebrow at her son, sipping her cocktail again.  “As you so eloquently reminded me earlier this evening, I cannot steal anyone.  I merely asked him if he’d like to sit with me, and he said yes.”

Viktor nudges Yuuri aside, and he scoots further into the booth to make room.  Viktor plops down, drapes his arm about Yuuri’s shoulders (Yuuri has to suppress the thrill of excitement that the contact gives him as he leans cozily into Viktor’s side), and then steals the juice from his hand.

“My own mother conspires to hide my fiancé from me,” Viktor sighs dramatically, taking a long, slow sip himself.  “Woe is me.”

When mother and son both laugh, Yuuri can’t help but notice that they have the same twinkle in their eyes.

 _Family,_ he thinks with wonder, and laughs with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic will be updated sporadically; i can't make any promises as to when the next side story will happen. however, since this is side stories, i have a lot more freedom than with main trfl because i don't have to stick to an outline! so if there's any content you guys would like to see more of, drop me a comment and i'll see what i can do. (i have more vasilisa content in the works already, haha.)
> 
> it also might not all be strictly trfl canon compliant, as most of this is me playing in my own sandbox and being very self-indulgent, so you might see some trfl aus in here, too!


	2. love was when i loved you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor tries to save Yuuri. Yuuri tries to save Viktor. Neither of them can understand why it never quite works.
> 
> (Time loops back, over and over, until one figures out how to do a particularly important thing the right way. How unfortunate it is, then, that neither of them can figure out how to save the other.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS WARNINGS WARNINGS!!! HEAVY ANGST, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH (though... they get better, kinda?), MOSTLY HURT VERY LITTLE COMFORT. this is an exercise in Angsty Shit and is not in any way a Happy side story!!
> 
> setting: during chapter 11, based on What Could Have Gone Wrong.

Yuri is crying.

Viktor stops, stares, and finds that he doesn’t have words to offer. They stick in his throat, climbing up and choking and choking and choking the breath from his lungs and replacing it with nausea.

“I—I hate you,” his little cousin spits, his face red and blotchy as he wipes his nose on his sleeve and scrubs furiously at his eyes. “You could have _stopped_ them, y-you’re the fucking _king,_ why don’t you fucking _act like it_ —god, I hate you, I hate you, I _hate you!”_

 _I tried,_ he wants to say, but his mind reels as the stranglespell tightens its chokehold. _I couldn’t, I tried, I—I—_

“You made me pass the order,” Yuri hisses. “ _You made me._ ”

“I—I didn’t want to,” Viktor manages. His voice sounds hollow, foreign to his own ears. None of this can possibly be real. None of this can be happening. “I didn’t want to, Yura, I—they made—”

His voice cuts off as confusion slams into him like a truck at high speeds. Who made him… who made him? What did they make him do? There’s a nagging feeling that whatever he’s trying to communicate is important, but he can’t _remember,_ and it’s infuriating. Whatever it is, it dances just out of his grasp, in the corner of his mind, refusing to come into the front. He stares hard at the carpet and wills it to come back, wills his mind to connect to his mouth again, and ultimately shakes his head, hard, as he staggers into a seat.

“Who?” Yura asks, demands really, his voice rough and still hurt and angry. He deserves that, Viktor supposes, distant and frozen. He’s the one who had to tap the gavel and pass the motion. He’s the one court took its rage out upon. “What the fuck are you talking about, you son of a—”

He cuts himself off. He can’t say that about Queen Vasilisa, and both of them know it.

Viktor just shakes his head. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Yura, I’m so sorry.”

Yuri chokes on a sob and slams his fist against the armrest. “It’s not _fair!_ He didn’t do it! He didn’t fucking do it, Viktor, you should have told them—”

That’s too much, even though Viktor hates himself for today, too, and he grits his teeth. “I _tried!”_

Yuri gapes at him after the outburst, then shakes his head. “Not fucking hard enough!”

It takes all the effort in the world not to grab the crown from his head and hurl it to the ground at Yuri’s feet, not to just say “You be king then,” and quit. Not to just walk away. But he can’t do that, not after everything his mother spent her life doing, not after… not after…

His own tears, when they come, are harsh and violent and wrench themselves from his throat with a rough cry, and then he’s gone, falling apart and sobbing brokenly. This is it. This is the end. This is the worst possible outcome, and he doesn’t know what to do anymore. His mind is just—just blank.

Today, despite every last thing he possibly could have said, Ruthenia’s court decided in its rage that Yuuri is guilty of murdering Viktor’s mother.

Today, Ruthenia’s court ruled to execute Yuuri.

Today, the world ended.

The door sounds, and Viktor looks up from his hands to see Yuuri himself, his eyes red but his face pale. The guards behind him hold his arms behind his back, swords not drawn but hilts held at the ready. Viktor’s blood boils at the sight.

“Can—can I come in?” he whispers, staring at the floor. “Please.”

“Yes,” Viktor says, immediately, wiping his face and glaring harshly at the guards. “Leave us.”

They balk, trading glances, and Viktor _knows_ Ivanovich has bought them. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, he has committed high treason. He murdered your mother. It wouldn’t be right of us to—”

“It wouldn’t be right of you to refuse a direct order from your king,” he snaps. “I said, leave us.”

They exchange looks again, then slink away. Yuuri slinks into the room, making himself as small as possible, and Yuri bursts into tears again as the door closes, jumping up and flinging his arms around him.

“It’s not _fair,_ ” he sobs, burying his face in Yuuri’s chest. “It’s not fair, Katsudon, you didn’t do it, I know you didn’t, it’s not fair!”

Yuuri starts to cry again, too. “I—I didn’t,” he agrees, pleading. “I, I would never, I—”

“You don’t have to convince us,” Viktor tells him, joining them, wrapping his arms around both of them. Yuuri leans heavily into him and cries harder. “Yuuri, oh, god, my Yuuri, oh… I don’t know what to do, I can’t—I can’t lose you—”

“If I run, they’ll just hunt me down,” Yuuri whispers. “If I run, it makes me guilty. If I stay, they kill me for a crime I didn’t commit. I can’t—I can’t get out of this.”

Of course Hinomoto will be enraged when the news reaches that Yuuri has been tried and condemned without enough evidence. That’s what Ivanovich wants. If Yuuri is dead before Hinomoto can demand his return, they will declare war.

Viktor’s entire world crumbled around him today, as uproarious applause greeted the vote to send Yuuri to the beheader’s axe, overpowering his veto. He tried to continue his insistence that Yuuri’s guilt should be proven beyond doubt, but…

They were so full of rage. They would not listen.

“I’m sorry, my darling,” he whispers as Yuuri buries his face in his chest, clinging to both him and Yuri. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“You did your best,” Yuuri whispers back. His voice is bleak. “I love you. Please—please just don’t forget me.”

“Never,” Viktor hisses, vehement. “Never, never, never. Oh, god. I can’t—I won’t live without you, Yuuri—”

“You can’t _say that,_ ” Yuri cries, hitting his arm. “You can’t leave me too, you asshole! You can’t!”

Viktor bows his head into Yuuri’s hair and says nothing more. He doesn’t have the words for this.

In the morning, Yuuri catches his eye one last time, even as a guard prods him in the back with the butt of her spear, pushing him toward the headsman. A burst of warmth and love touches his mind, for the last time—

“No,” he whispers, but he’s too late.

—and the headsman’s axe comes down.

He can’t sleep that night, because every time he closes his eyes he sees the blood, so much of it, as Yuuri’s last empathic kiss abruptly vanishes from his mind and his body falls, lifeless, to the ground. He curls up in his empty bed and clutches Makkachin, who whines and licks his face, confused as to why Yuuri isn’t here anymore.

Viktor is confused, too. Why did this happen? How could something like this—this is—this _can’t_ be the real end, he thinks, and cries until a restless sleep finally claims him.

Something shifts in the night.

In the morning, he wakes, expecting dull horror and a life that no longer holds meaning now that everything has utterly fallen to pieces. He expects nothingness and hollow, empty grief.

Instead, Yuuri shifts in his arms, still asleep and somehow, inexplicably alive, and he bursts into tears.

.

.

.

Perhaps yesterday was a bad dream.

Perhaps yesterday didn’t happen.

Either way, when he looks at his phone and sees the date is the same—yesterday is still in the future, and Yuuri has yet to be accused, it seems—he gets a second chance.

“Vitya?” Yuuri asks, groggy in his arms but waking up rapidly as he sobs. “Vitya, what’s wrong?”

“I—I thought—I thought I lost you,” he blubbers, curling tightly around Yuuri and holding him close close close. His heart is beating, he is alive, he is innocent, and he is _here._ “I thought I lost you, I thought you—I thought…”

Yuuri’s fingers scrunch through his hair. “It was a bad dream,” he murmurs, pulling the blankets up around them both. “Bad dream. It’s not real. I’m right here.”

It must have been, but fuck. It felt so real…

Viktor clutches at him. “I love you, I love you I love you I love you,” he whispers raggedly into his hair. Yuuri kisses his chest and snuggles into him, his dark eyelashes fluttering sweetly as he blinks a few times, trying to clear the sleep from his vision. He’s precious. He has to be protected. He has to.

“I love you, too,” Yuuri sighs, stroking his back. “Shh, shh. Don’t cry. It’s alright. I’m here. We’re okay.”

Viktor sobs anyway.

Eventually, he quiets, his head pounding and his face messy. Yuuri hugs him a long while, until he finally gets them both out of bed and guides him to the bathroom, helping him wash his face. Viktor bends over the sink and splashes himself with warm water, willing the sorrow to leave—it was a bad dream, nothing more—and Yuuri’s arms wrap around his waist from behind, and Yuuri lays his cheek against his shoulderblade, just leaning into him and surrounding his mind with love.

Love like the love that was ripped away by the executioner’s axe.

Viktor flinches.

“Vitya, darling,” Yuuri murmurs. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I want—I want to forget,” Viktor whispers. He turns around, buries his face in Yuuri’s hair, and holds him again, trying not to tremble. _I will protect you, I will protect you, I will protect you._

“Alright.” Yuuri soothes him with gentle touches and more sweet kisses, both empathic and physical, and holds him, rocks him back and forth, holds him more. Viktor clings to him and tries, desperately, not to think of their last night together, of how he had to force the guards away again. Of how Yuuri cried and cried and cried. Of how he couldn’t fix it.

He can’t let that happen again. He can’t. He _can’t._

If it was just a dream, it was a warning. Court will turn on him. He _has_ to stand firm.

“That must have been some nightmare,” Yuuri murmurs, cradling him close as they sit curled together in a corner of the couch, wrapped in a throw blanket as their tea steeps on the coffee table in front of them. “Are you feeling any better now, dear?”

Viktor makes a soft, noncommittal sound. “I love you,” he mumbles, exhausted even though the sun has barely risen. “I…”

Yuuri kisses him gently. “I love you, too.”

Viktor’s resolve only strengthens. He _will_ protect his love, no matter what.

.

.

.

_No matter what._

.

.

.

Somehow, everything happens again, just the same. Perhaps his dream was a premonition. Perhaps it truly happened. But he knows—he knows that this time, he _won’t let it end that way._ Court clamors into an uproar again, furious and desperate for a scapegoat, but Viktor refuses to let them pin it on Yuuri. If he can just get in touch with Hinomoto, before the news breaks, he could get Yuuri out of here, and…

This time, he loudly and confidently proclaims that with insufficient evidence, he will not let the trial conclude guilt. Whispers grow, hissing insidious things about his lust for a “replacable” bed-warmer consuming his loyalty to his country, ripping at his allies when he needs them most, but he stands firm. He won’t let this happen.

He won’t let this happen.

He’s alone in his study when Lord Ivanovich comes in to speak with him, uninvited, unannounced.

“Viktor, son,” he says, looking almost but not quite tired. “I’m sorry, but you’ve already outlived your usefulness. If you’d been more cooperative, maybe things could have been different. As it is, court is a mess, and nobody will be able to determine who, exactly, would have wanted you dead—a loyalist to your mother, an opportunist on the outside, anyone—and perhaps a more malleable king is just what we need.”

He rises from his chair, ready for a duel, and—

The shadows move.

 _Oh,_ he thinks, even as his body dodges out of reflex and concentrated darkness impales the chair where he was less than a second ago. _So this is it._

He puts up a valiant effort, but when he tries to escape the study, one of his own guards slashes his back open, and he stumbles from the shock of the pain. That’s all it takes.

The shadows claim him, then, and as his vision fades, the last thing he can think of is that it’s cruel all over again, that he didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to his Yuuri.

.

.

.

He wakes, again, in his bed, with Yuuri in his arms, heart suddenly pounding despite the pale morning sunlight. Yuuri is crying, softly—but wait, didn’t they execute him? It seems hazy, but he remembers—he _remembers_ —

“Yuuri,” he whispers, and Yuuri jerks in surprise. “Darling, what is it?”

“I th-thought I _lost_ you,” Yuuri sobs, and flings himself into his arms.

Viktor’s brow furrows. He has no memory of any reason why Yuuri might think that—isn’t it the other way around? Wasn’t Yuuri executed? There’s something fuzzy in his head.

“Oh, sunflower,” he sighs, rubbing Yuuri’s back. “It must have been a bad dream.”

.

.

.

Yuuri pins him to the wall, kissing him furiously, and he hardly has a chance to react before he finds himself gasping into his fiancé’s mouth, moaning his name. Yuuri kisses him hard, a hand fisted in the front of his shirt and the other cradling the back of his head, gentle but firm in his hair. He kisses him over and over and over again, kisses him until both of their faces are flushed and both of them are breathing hard, holding onto each other desperately.

“Yuuri,” he manages, hands resting on Yuuri’s back, pressing him close. “Yuuri…”

“Sorry,” Yuuri says, not at all sorry. “I just—I had to, I—listen, Vitya, I need you to know some things, and this isn’t going to be an easy talk, but we have to talk about this.”

A knot of fear ties itself into his chest. “You can tell me anything,” he manages, kissing Yuuri’s forehead, and Yuuri closes his eyes for a moment, so he kisses him there, too.

Yuuri pulls him away from the wall and leads him to an armchair, gently pushing him down and then sliding over him, straddling his lap. Viktor wraps his arms around his waist and hugs him close and waits, waits, waits. Ivanovich released the rumors today, and they’ve been tearing viciously through court.

“Vitya.” Yuuri takes a deep breath. “This is going to be bad, and I’m sorry, but you have to hear me out. Okay?”

Viktor hesitates. “Okay…?”

Yuuri ruffles his hair and leans in and kisses his brow. “They’re going to accuse me, officially, of murdering your mother. They are.”

Viktor’s jaw tightens. “I know,” he mutters, pulling Yuuri closer against his chest. “I won’t let them lay a finger on you. I won’t let them, Yuuri, I promise you’ll be safe. I’ll throw my damn reputation out the window if I have to, but I won’t let—”

“No!”

Yuuri is wide-eyed, almost terrified, as he frantically shakes his head.

Viktor doesn’t understand.

“No?”

“No,” Yuuri repeats, swallowing hard. “Vitya, you said you’d hear me out, so just—just _listen_ to me, okay, listen—they’re going to frame me, and their faked evidence will be incriminating enough to make Court believe them. I don’t know who’s planting it, I don’t know what’s going on, but I know that’ll happen.”

Viktor frowns. Does he remember, too? “How do you know?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “I just—I know. They’re going to frame me, and if you fight it, if you refuse to let them, they will _kill_ you. And then they’ll probably still kill me anyway, after you get assassinated. Listen, listen to me, we can’t let that happen, we can’t—we can’t leave Yura alone like that, okay? You—you have to let me go, Vitya, please—”

Viktor jerks as if he’s been slapped. “No!”

Yuuri sits back, stung. “For Yura,” he repeats. “Please.”

“I can’t—I can’t do that,” Viktor pleads. “Yuuri, please, don’t—don’t make me lose you, god, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, don’t talk like that—we’ll figure something out! We can figure something out, together. As long as we’re together it’ll be okay, you know it will.”

Yuuri is very quiet for several long seconds. “I’m scared,” he finally admits, sinking against Viktor’s chest. “I’m scared that it won’t.”

.

.

.

Yuuri is sitting with him in his study when the assassin comes. It’s completely out of the blue, but Yuuri somehow seems to expect it, readying his knife. He’s not expecting to be shoved aside by the guards at the door, and Viktor throws himself across the room to defend his love.

The shadows stab straight through him, and he collapses in a rapidly-growing pool of his own blood, reaching for Yuuri. As his vision darkens, he’s vaguely aware of Yuuri crawling to him, holding him, crying.

“No, no, no, _no,_ ” he sobs, shaking hands stroking Viktor’s face. “No, don’t—don’t leave me—Vitya, Vitya, stay with me—”

“I love you,” Viktor rasps, and closes his eyes.

.

.

.

He wakes up, confused. Yuuri wasn’t executed?

Maybe not. That must have been a bad dream.

Why is Yuuri crying?

.

.

.

“You _have_ to let me go, Vitya,” Yuuri begs, clutching at him. “They’ll kill you. They will _kill_ you! You have to let me go. It’s the only way.”

“I can’t,” he whispers, shaking his head as half-forgotten, horrific memories resurface (a last, tearful embrace, and a kiss cut short. So, so much blood.). “I can’t send you to your death. You—you can’t ask that of me, Yuuri, god, please, I can’t.”

Something shifts in Yuuri’s posture, akin to understanding.

“Alright,” he says, kissing him. “Alright. I know. I—it’s gonna be okay, darling. I love you, Vitya. I love you so, so much.”

Viktor’s chest aches from how much he wants to believe him.

.

.

.

“Prince Katsuki Yuuri of Hinomoto, the case against you is thus. In the name of Queen Vasilisa Nikiforova, may she rest in peace, how do you plead?”

Yuuri lifts his chin and does not look Viktor in the eye. He is, of course, innocent, and soon court will explode, but Viktor will quell them, whatever it takes.

“Guilty.”

.

.

.

He thought seeing it once was bad enough, but somehow, there’s more blood than he remembered.

.

.

.

He wakes up sobbing.

“Vitya?” Yuuri asks, groggy in his arms but waking up rapidly as he sobs. “Vitya, what’s wrong?”

“I thought—I thought I lost you,” he weeps, and wonders why he feels such a strong sense of déjà vu.

.

.

.

The assassin comes as a shock, and though Yuuri is sitting with him and tries to stop the guards, somehow, it doesn’t work. Viktor stares at the bloody red spot growing rapidly on his stomach, a hole in his shirt ripped through where the shadow stabbed directly through him, and collapses.

 _“NO!”_ Yuuri screams.

Gentle arms pick him up, and then Yuuri is cradling him to his chest, already crying. Viktor licks his lips and blinks up at him, straining to breathe. He can taste his own blood. One of Yuuri’s tears falls down onto his face, and he shakes his head, just slightly. “D-don’t cry.”

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here,” Yuuri babbles, covering his face with kisses. “I’ve got you, you’re okay, it’s all going to be okay, Vitya, Vityen’ka, darling, my love, it’s—it’s okay, don’t worry, d-don’t you worry…”

Viktor takes a shaky breath again and winces, whining because it _hurts._ Everything is so hard. He’s… he’s dying, and he knows it.

“Yuuri,” he whispers. “Yuuri… I’m scared.”

His vision blurs. At first, he thinks it’s just the end, but then he realizes he’s crying, slumped in Yuuri’s arms, bleeding out on the floor of his own study. Yuuri sobs over him and kisses him, and that has to be bad, because he tastes like blood, but Yuuri doesn’t seem to care.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Yuuri breathes. “Hush, hush, I’m here. I’m here…”

He starts to sing a lullaby, cradling Viktor against his heart, and Viktor breathes out, closing his tired eyes. He hurts, he hurts so much…

Yuuri’s voice is the last thing he hears. There are worse ways he could have gone.

.

.

.

“Oh, sunflower,” he sighs, rubbing Yuuri’s back. “It must have been a bad dream.”

.

.

.

“I can’t lose you again. I can’t.”

“What are you talking about? I can’t lose _you!”_

.

.

.

“I don’t know what to do. I love you.”

.

.

.

_“Guilty.”_

.

.

.

“This ruling is incomplete and overturned!”

.

.

.

“I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry.”

“I love you so much, god, I don’t—I don’t know what to do, I love you—”

.

.

.

_Something has to change._

.

.

.

“Yuuri,” he breathes.  His hand lifts of its own volition, upturned, fingers outstretched toward his love.  Yuuri is breathtaking, beautiful as ever as he stands there, still and silent.  But his chest moves, his heart beats—he is alive, this time, alive and breathing and maybe, perhaps, this time we’ll make it—

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, stepping forward, hesitant and slow.

Viktor aches.

He yearns to run to him, to sweep him up and to kiss him hard and fast and passionately, to kiss him and kiss him until neither of them remembers anything but the other’s name, murmured breathlessly into his lips.  Yearns to fall to his knees and weep, to beg forgiveness for a death he has yet to witness, this time.  Yearns to whisper _I love you, I love you, I love you_ into dark hair until the words lose all meaning and sound, until they’re both safe and somehow together, on the other side.

Oh, he aches.

“Dance with me,” he says, instead of any of that.  “Please.”

“I—”

Yuuri hesitates (but why?  What has he done wrong this time?), but then he smiles slightly.  Part of Viktor’s heart soars from relief.  Most of it sinks.  Yuuri smiling only serves to raise the contrast between Yuuri now and the Yuuri that dies in front of him, cruelly torn from life far too soon, condemned by Viktor’s own hand, forced as it is.  Yuuri should always be smiling.  Perhaps that is why he keeps dying.  He’s too beautiful and the world can’t bear to have him in it.

“Okay,” he says, and places his hand in Viktor’s.  And then he’s smiling up close, looking up with that expression of nothing but love and tenderness and trust, and oh, god, Viktor can’t—he can’t do this, he can’t do this again, in two days the court will convene and find Yuuri guilty of conspiring to murder the late Queen, and—

“Yuuri,” he breathes, barely catching himself in time.  He’s not sure that the way he whispers the name is any better than the _I love you_ sitting in his throat like a lump of dry flour, threatening to choke him.  “My Yuuri.”

“You’re leading, Vitya dear,” Yuuri murmurs, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.  His hand is featherlight and yet so secure on Viktor’s arm.  Viktor wants to throw dancing to the wind and just pull Yuuri close, wants to whisper the _I love you_ over and over and over into those slightly chapped pink lips, wants to protect him forever.  “Or do you want me to?”

“I—I can lead,” Viktor manages, even though he doubts the verity of that statement, especially as it applies outside the ballroom.  But he tries.

He sucks in his breath as best as he can with his own guilt suffocating him, and then he moves, pulling Yuuri closer as he spins them through the first turn.  He can’t help it.  Proper dance etiquette or not, he just—he needs Yuuri.  It’s like the hypnotic flame that draws a moth in, but Yuuri is nurturing warmth and compassion.  Yuuri is brilliance and hope and joy, and Viktor is the ice that will snuff out his light.

And perhaps that knowledge is what weighs him down so much that he stumbles halfway through their waltz, stumbles on a simple promenade walk that should be as easy as breathing.  Perhaps breathing isn’t as easy as everyone makes it out to be.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, and instead of moving on despite a stumble like he could have, like he should have, even now while they have the entire ballroom empty, just for the two of them, he stops.  He stops, and Viktor can’t do this any more.  He stops and he’s concerned and he’s beautiful and sweet and everything that Viktor will ruin and more, and oh, god, Yuuri.  “Sweetheart.  Are you okay?”

“No,” Viktor gasps.  He can’t do this.  He can’t do this again.  Again, and again, and again.  “No, I’m not.  Yuuri—you’re—I can’t.”

He shakes his head, a jerky, uncertain motion.  His knees fold under him, but Yuuri catches him with a soft exclamation of surprise and concern.  Worry.  Arms, tight around his waist, holding him up.  

“Vitya!” Yuuri is saying, and no, that’s not worry—that’s terror, somewhere deep under the surface of his voice.  “Oh, god, Vitya, honey—are you hurt?  Dizzy?  Did—did someone—oh, god, they never tried poison the last few times—breathe.  Please, please, just breathe, stay with me, I can’t—I can’t lose you again--”

And it’s funny.

Because… that’s just what Viktor was thinking, too.

“You…” he wheezes, barely aware that both of them are sinking to their knees on the dance floor, oddly alone in this vast, empty space.  “You can’t lose me?  Again?  I—I can’t lose _you_ again, darling.”

Yuuri’s fingers find his cheek.  Yuuri’s thumb caresses his cheekbone, and Viktor can’t help himself, melting and leaning into the touch with a soft sigh.  Yuuri’s lips brush his forehead.

“Vitya,” he breathes.  He presses a featherlight kiss to Viktor’s closed eyes, left and then right.  “Vitya, my dearest.  You… do you remember?”

Viktor’s eyes open with a start.  “You remember?”

“I remember you dying,” Yuuri says with a wet, helpless laugh.  He dashes at his eyes with one hand, the other still pressed to Viktor’s cheek, and Viktor finally, finally gives in to his urge to hold him tighter than he ever has before.  He crushes Yuuri close to him, presses his hands to his darling’s back, and cradles him against his chest.

“I don’t remember that,” Viktor murmurs.  “I remember—I remember you dying.  And it was because of me.  Every time.  You…”

He shudders.  Yuuri kisses his jaw.

“Every time,” he tries again, “you would be framed for—for my mother’s death.  Murder.  And with court clamoring as they do, I would have no choice but to have you executed.  Every damn time.  I can’t do it.  Darling.  Darling, I won’t do it, I can’t!  You can’t die like this.  It’s wrong!”

“Don’t say that,” Yuuri whispers.  He’s trembling, now, and alarmed, Viktor presses him closer, shaking his head.  Why can’t—why can’t they just run away from all of this?  He wants to flee and find a nice little cottage somewhere in the mountains, isolated from the world, where they can have a tiny little garden and live in peace.  Just the two of them.  “Don’t say that.  Please.”

“Why not?” Viktor asks, tortured.  “I can’t watch them do this to you, over, and over, and over.  I—I can’t be the one who has to do this to you, Yuuri, please, sweetheart, I can’t.”

“I know,” Yuuri whimpers, and there’s a sob building in his throat.  “What I remember is—you were backed into a corner.  Either listening to them and killing me, or… not doing that.  And you—you chose to save me.  And it ended in them killing you.”

Viktor is silent.

So that’s what this comes to, then.  One of them lives, or the other.  They can’t even both die together?  

“You died in my arms, last time,” Yuuri continues.  He nuzzles a little closer, pressing his face into the crook of Viktor’s neck and curling up, making himself small.  Viktor wants to protect him.  Wants to hold him like this and never, ever let him go.  “You cried.  You told me you didn’t want to die.  You begged me not to let go.  I kissed you and you tasted like blood and then you were dead and I had to go through the rest of the day.  And then I woke up this morning and we were in bed together, like it never happened.”

“It didn’t happen,” Viktor whispers hollowly.  “I’m here.  I’m here, Yuuri, I’m right here, I have you, it’s alright—”

“It’s not,” Yuuri cuts him off, maybe sharper than he intended.  That’s fair.  Viktor is a liar, and they both know it.  Yuuri wilts in his arms, the flower with all its warmth slowly giving in when faced with the ice.  Oh, god, his Yuuri.  “It’s not okay, Vitya, it’s not.”

“I know,” Viktor whispers.  He bows his head.  “But what can we do?”

“Die,” Yuuri says, humorless, and snorts.

“I think we’ve tried that,” Viktor mutters.  It gets another snort out of Yuuri.  “Didn’t really seem to work.”

“I just want us to be happy,” Yuuri says softly, after another few moments of silence, threading his fingers through Viktor’s hair.  He feels so warm and solid and real in this moment that Viktor can almost believe that he’ll never be ripped away.

Almost.

“Just that.  Happy.  Let us be together, that’s all I want,” Yuuri continues, despairing now.  “Is that so much to ask?”

“I don’t know,” Viktor says, because sometimes, a lie is easier to face than a truth as ugly as theirs.  “I don’t know.”

He does.

It’s not a pretty answer.

.

.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, before anyone brings it up, plotwise i Know the time loops don't hold up, because other characters were there and that was definitely a thing they probably would have noticed. let me write my dumb angst in peace, okay, this was just for fun
> 
> and also yes, the title is from my heart will go on. i listened to it on loop (haha, loop) while writing... most of this fic. do with that information what you will.


	3. and the sun comes dancing down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri finally gets to live out something he's been daydreaming about for a while. It's nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings this time, just fluff!
> 
> setting: Chapter 20, approximately 1.5 months after the tournament

Viktor is very pretty.

Yuuri really ought to be less surprised by this by now, given that they’ve been through hell of some sort together and are engaged and will be married in a month, but it still manages to catch him off guard sometimes. It’s very unfair.

Viktor, laughing as he dances with Yuuko’s daughters, taking turns to carefully spin each of them around, is luckily too preoccupied to notice him staring and sighing dreamily. It’s just—it’s so _good,_ seeing him like this. Laughing, dancing, carefree, with the sunlight shining on his hair and silhouetting him in gold. He feels unabashedly happy, happy in a way he hasn’t been in so, so long, and it’s—it’s just really, really nice.

Whenever the girls get tired, Yuuri is going to take that beautiful, smiling man by the hand and tug him somewhere a little more private than the dance studio, and he’s going to kiss him utterly _breathless_.

“And _up_ we go!” Viktor exclaims, scooping Loop up and raising her up over his head for a moment, twirling her around and around as she shrieks with laughter. Yuuko catches Yuuri’s eye, giggling to herself, and then meanders over to nudge him with a knowing look.

“Someone’s in lo-ove,” she teases, at least having the shame to keep her voice low as Yuuri flushes a little. He’s been caught.

“Well, yes. Can you blame me?”

Yuuko laughs as she plops down next to him and crosses her legs. “Not in the slightest.”

Viktor sweeps Axel up next as the music swells, letting out a peal of laughter along with the girls. They run around, trying to keep up with his steps as he waltzes around the ballroom with them, grinning broadly, and Yuuri can’t help but let out another dreamy sigh as he lays his head on Yuuko’s shoulder. He can _feel_ the happiness rolling off Viktor in waves—golden and heady, a little like honey or warm sunlight—and it makes him so cozy he could almost curl up and fall asleep, bathed in its glow.

“He’s so _good,_ ” he sighs. Yuuko pats his hand sympathetically. “I could watch this for the next ten years.”

She snorts. “No, you couldn’t. You’d jump him within the hour.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to protest, finds that he can’t find it within himself to argue when she’s _right,_ and closes it again with a tiny huff.

The song winds to a close, and the four dancers all hurry over to the loveseat. Yuuko hops up to hug her daughters and gushes that they’re dancing so _well,_ while Yuuri gathers himself and hopes he’s not blushing as he reaches for Viktor’s hand, smiling.

“Hi,” Viktor says, squeezing his hand. His face is pink, glowing from the exertion of dancing and from the joy singing in his mind, and Yuuri’s body acts on autopilot as he automatically leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Hi, you.”

Viktor beams. Yuuri has the sudden urge to take him out to the garden maze and find the sunflowers in the tiny grove in one of its rooms, just to work them into a crown and place it on his head. He’s beautiful, and flowers would only serve to make that beauty even more evident. And the yellow would look so lovely against the blue of his eyes. That smile is so utterly precious, and—

A hand waves in front of his face. “Hello, Yuuri? Yoo-hoo! Are you in there?”

Yuuri snaps back to reality with a startled yip. “I’m right here!”

“Sure you are,” Viktor agrees, wrinkling his nose in amusement. He strokes his thumb over Yuuri’s knuckles as fond amusement joins the joy radiating from him, and as he starts to follow Yuuko and the girls out of the dance studio, Yuuri hangs back.

Viktor looks at him, tilting his head curiously, and a bit of silvery hair flops endearingly across his face. Yuuri chuckles as he reaches up to brush it aside, smiling, and then steps a little closer, skimming his hands over Viktor’s shoulders and down his arms, finding his hands again. Viktor is wearing a simple, pale pink button-up shirt embroidered with tulips around the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the color suits him very well. Every color suits him, but Yuuri does especially like how he looks in soft pastels like this.

“Yuuri?” Viktor squeezes his hands. “Is everything alright?”

“More than alright,” Yuuri says. The door closes behind Yuuko with a _click_ , and then it’s just the two of them alone with the sunlight and the dust dancing in its golden beams, and Viktor’s soft happiness still fills him like warm honeyed dew. “Have I ever told you you’re beautiful?”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he steps forward, and Viktor stumbles back a step in surprise, pressed back against the wall as Yuuri surges forward and kisses him. It’s not a particularly hard kiss, because he’s smiling and Viktor is smiling and overall he feels very tender, but Viktor lets out a little peep that melts into a soft, breathy _oh_ , and Yuuri kisses him again.

He nips gently at Viktor’s lower lip and feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth when Viktor lets out another tiny gasp as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head a little more to get the angle just right. Viktor’s hands slide up his shoulders to his hair, pressing him closer, and Yuuri kisses him soundly, over and over and over.

When he pulls back, feeling a little smug as Viktor has to catch his breath, hair mussed and lips red, Viktor blinks at him with a wide-eyed little grin. “I—I’m not sure exactly what brought that on,” he says, licking his lips, “but if that’s what telling me I’m beautiful is, you could definitely mention it more often—”

Yuuri kisses him once more just for good measure, laughing.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he teases, pressing a kiss to his jaw and nuzzling his neck. He can feel the little burst of pleasure from Viktor as he presses his lips to the pulse point in his neck, nibbles his way down toward his collarbone, and kisses the hollow at the base of his throat.

Viktor lets out a breathy sigh and tips his head back against the wall. “ _Yuu_ -ri…”

“Mmhmm?” Yuuri hums, pushing the collar of his shirt out of the way so that he can leave a trail of light kisses along his collarbone. His Vitya is so pretty, so beautiful, and so _happy._ Has he felt this happy, this content, at all recently? Yuuri is inclined to think no, not really. This trip has been good for him; they left most of the stress of rebuilding court after the disaster of the past year behind in Ruthenia, and Viktor is more lighthearted than he’s felt since his mother’s death.

Viktor’s hand scrunches through his hair. “ _Yuuri._ ”

Yuuri reaches up, tips his chin down, and pulls him into another simmering kiss, pressing closer to him and pinning him between himself and the wall. He kisses him until he moans, this time; Viktor lets out a very satisfyingly low noise into his mouth, and Yuuri withdraws to survey his handiwork.

Viktor’s eyelashes flutter as he breathes hard, cheeks flushed a beautiful deep pink, until he looks at him with wide eyes. “Wow,” he says, and Yuuri starts to laugh.

“Got you,” he teases as he steps back. _Well-kissed_ is a good look on Viktor, especially paired with soft pastels and golden happiness.

Viktor gapes at him for a second, then pulls him back in for another kiss. “You can’t just _do_ that,” he complains, lips brushing Yuuri’s, “and then walk away,” and he kisses him again, “without so much as warning a man.”

Yuuri laughs warmly and cradles his cheeks, going up on his toes to kiss the tip of his nose fondly. “Watch me.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Viktor laments.

“Funny,” Yuuri answers, tracing his thumb over Viktor’s lower lip and grinning when his breath hitches in his chest. “That’s what I was thinking, looking at you.”

“ _Yuuri,_ ” Viktor complains again. His heart is racing—Yuuri can feel his heartbeat in his chest, pressed together as they are—and his face is pink, his lips parted just so, and without really thinking, Yuuri strokes his thumb over his bottom lip again before leaning in and kissing him, sweet and tender and fond. This time, Viktor just melts into his arms, a complete puddle of a man, and Yuuri laughs again as he hugs him close.

“There, there, dear,” he says, smoothing Viktor’s hair as he presses their foreheads together. “You’re just so pretty, you know.”

“Am I,” Viktor says, a little faintly, licking his lips. “Wow.”

“Yes.” Yuuri kisses the corner of his mouth and hums, brushing his mind with a nudge of deep affection, and turns his head to tuck his face into Viktor’s neck, content. Viktor makes a little plaintive noise from somewhere in his chest, squeezing him close, and then to Yuuri’s amusement, his knees slowly give out, and he slides down the wall, pulling Yuuri down with him until they sit in a tangled heap on the floor.

“The death of me,” Viktor repeats, still blushing. Yuuri cradles his cheeks and laughs, pulling him close, and Viktor willingly burrows into his arms, laying his head on his shoulder and trying to catch his breath. Yuuri tousles his hair. “Sunflower?”

“Mmhmm?”

“I love you,” Viktor sighs, kissing his neck.

“I love you too,” Yuuri smiles, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Come on. Let’s go to the gardens, it’s nice outside!”

“Okay,” Viktor says, and does not move.

…

“Vitya,” Yuuri prods him in the side. “Vitya, you have to get up if we’re going outside.”

“You took out my knees,” Viktor says, nuzzling into his neck. “I’m just jelly now. If we’re going anywhere, you have to carry me. You did this to yourself. Actions have consequences, Yuuri, you should know that by now…”

Yuuri laughs and nudges more affection into his mind. “Oh, no, my poor, strong king has been brought to his knees, whatever can I do to strengthen him…”

Viktor lifts his head, eyes twinkling. “Oh, I don’t know. I can think of a few things…”

“If you’re going to say you want more kisses, I’ll have to stop you there,” Yuuri warns him, tweaking his nose. “That’s what took you down in the first place.”

Viktor pouts, his eyes dancing. “But _Yuuuuu-_ ri, it’s only fair!”

“What’s fair?” Yuuri laughs, leaning in to peck his lips. “The fact that you’re impossibly irresistable?”

“Oh, yes. That’s me, an utterly charming bombshell, here to seduce the Second Prince away from Hasetsu.” Winking, Viktor flutters his eyelashes very dramatically and steals another kiss, lingering very sweetly. Yuuri tightens his arms around him, kissing him back with warmth and passion, until both of them break away and descend into silly giggles.

“I’m afraid the Second Prince is already taken,” he says, nuzzling Viktor’s nose. “You might have a hard time stealing him away from the King of Ruthenia—I hear he’s quite the dashing fellow, and very handsome to boot.”

Viktor preens just a little. “Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure I could impress the Prince. What’s a fuddy-duddy old king of some messy country got to offer?”

Yuuri frowns at him and kisses him again. “That was a disciplinary kiss,” he says, as Viktor smiles some more. “You aren’t allowed to enjoy that one. It’s me disciplining you because flirting doesn’t cover being mean to yourself.”

“Wow,” Viktor hums. “Discipline me some more?”

Yuuri gives him a very dry look.

Viktor sighs, something warm in his eyes. He traces a finger along Yuuri’s hairline, follows it behind his ear, and caresses his jaw, tipping his chin up, and then he kisses him again, very gentle and very soft. It’s the kind of kiss that makes all the affection and warmth in Yuuri’s chest stir and ache for more, not out of heat but out of love and a desire to demonstrate that love; he closes his eyes and kisses Viktor back, slow and tender.

“The Second Prince is so extremely kind,” Viktor murmurs, his voice low and husky, “and there’s no way the King could ever deserve someone who’s so endlessly good to him.”

Yuuri’s chest aches, suddenly. “Vitya—”

Viktor cuts him off with a gentle touch of his thumb, mirroring his action from before, and smiles. “But don’t worry. The King is going to do his best to be someone who deserves his Prince.”

“He already is,” Yuuri says fiercely, kissing him again. “The King is the best person in the world, and the Prince probably doesn’t deserve him but he loves him so, so much that it doesn’t matter. The King is good and noble and kind and funny, and sweet and caring and—”

“Oh, sunflower,” Viktor sighs, kissing his cheek. “I adore you.”

“I love you, too,” Yuuri says, very lightly bopping him on the shoulder. “Stop being mean to yourself, or I _will_ tell my mom that you don’t get any katsudon tonight.”

Viktor looks criminally offended. “You _wouldn’t._ ”

“You wanna bet?” Yuuri cocks an eyebrow.

Viktor stares for a moment before he backs down, shaking his head. “I know by now how stubborn you can be.”

_Stubborn enough not to give up on you_ , Yuuri thinks, his mind automatically jumping back to the night he spent alone, the first night after Viktor broke off their engagement. So much has happened since then—and he thinks about the ball in Elvetia, too, desperately trying to work out what _happened_ and being hurt in the process.

He doesn’t say that, however, because they are having a nice make-out session in a sunny little ballroom tucked in the private wings of Hasetsu Castle, and there’s absolutely no reason to get back into any of that. He’s going to focus on the here and the now, and that means Viktor’s messy hair and pastel shirt and the smile on his face as he danced with Yuuko’s daughters.

“Good,” he says, instead, and kisses Viktor again just for good measure. Then he pulls away and clambers to his feet, holding out his hands. “Come on, silly. Garden time.”

Viktor takes his hands and—

“Ah!”

—yanks him back down into his lap, grinning triumphantly as Yuuri topples over into his arms. He stares up at him, cradled across his lap almost like a baby, and then puffs out his cheeks indignantly.

Viktor laughs. “Got you!”

He leans down and kisses Yuuri again, fond and playful, and lets him up again. This time, Yuuri very pointedly doesn’t offer a hand, and they both get to their feet and leave the ballroom. It’s much like the time Viktor waited on him after dance practice with Minako and they went out for ramen, ages ago, Yuuri thinks, glancing up at his fiancé, who smiles down at him.

As they walk, Viktor wraps an arm around his waist and tugs him in, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. “You look beautiful today, by the way.”

“So do you,” Yuuri says, willing himself to forget all the stress and turmoil and pain. It’s over. There’s no need to dwell on it now.

Viktor chuckles, and Yuuri leans into him a little more as they walk, letting his head lay against his shoulder for a moment. Going into the garden to just sit for a while sounds nicer and nicer, the more he thinks about it—the sun is warm but not too hot, and there’s a nice breeze carrying the scents of the orchard all around the courtyards.

They enter the maze, and Yuuri leads the way through it effortlessly, until they find themselves back in his favorite room, with the gnarled old cherry tree and the warm water.

Viktor stops him as they enter, quiet wonder in his face, and as Yuuri turns to look up at him questioningly, his hands settle on his hips.

“This is where we talked—really talked—for the first time,” he says, marvelling, as he draws Yuuri closer. “I had no idea then, how much I would grow to love you.”

Yuuri closes his eyes and lays his head against his shoulder, pressing close to him. Viktor lays his cheek against his hair and slowly pats his back, his arms warm and solid and his body firm and strong against Yuuri’s. It feels good, holding him, being held. Especially here.

“I was afraid,” he admits, his hand playing with the embroidery on the back of Viktor’s shirt as he laughs softly. “Back then. I was scared of marrying you. Can you imagine?”

“I… know. I knew,” Viktor admits. “You didn’t really hide it. But I’m glad it worked out for us.”

Yuuri hums. “Me too.”

He’s loath to leave Viktor’s embrace, so he just stays like that, head on his shoulder as they gently sway back and forth almost like they’re dancing with the breeze, as the sun beams down with all the warmth of a hopeful summer’s day. Eventually, Viktor lifts his head and sighs.

“Let’s go sit down?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri agrees, and Viktor takes him by the hand and leads him to the side of the little pool, the water warm and quietly rushing around the stones as it flows out under the hedges. Yuuri slips out of his shoes and pulls his robes up, letting his legs dangle down into the spring, and next to him, Viktor mirrors the action, rolling his pants up to his knees and then wrapping his arm around his waist again.

It's so similar, and yet so different.

The first time was a moonlit night, and they were two innocent strangers. Now, it’s a sunny day, and they’re a pair of traumatized lovers.

It’s been so long. So much has happened. They’ve both changed so much—there’s just… it’s almost surreal, sitting here just like this with Viktor again. His Viktor. His fiancé, the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with (the man he’s _going_ to spend the rest of his life with), the man he loves. Not a stranger anymore. A beautiful, wonderful man who was dragged through hell and came out alive and had the strength to recover and take back his throne.

Yuuri’s vision blurs a little before he even realizes his chest and throat are tight with emotion, and as soon as he sniffles, Viktor looks down at him, eyes widening. “Yuuri?”

“I—”

Yuuri lifts his glasses to wipe at his eyes, shaking his head. Why is he suddenly about to cry?

“I was just thinking,” he manages, scrambling to find words. There’s some kind of disconnect between his head and his heart, and it feels _weird._ “I… we’ve just been through so _much,_ especially you, and… and I just,” and he sniffles again as Viktor pulls him closer, cooing softly, “I don’t know, I was thinking about, about how last time we were both here none of that had _happened_ and so much has changed now and—and—”

“Not all of it was a change for the worse,” Viktor soothes. Yuuri turns to him, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face in his neck. “I grew to love you more than I can ever say. Yura and Mila and Chris all love you now, too. I met Phichit. You met Makkachin. We all—a lot of bad stuff happened, sweetheart, but we had our good times, too. It’s not all bad, is it?”

“No,” Yuuri agrees tremulously, clinging to him. “I just, it just now hit me that it’s all, it’s all just _happened._ ”

“Oh,” Viktor breathes softly. “Oh, Yuuri. Come here.”

It’s a little redundant to say, because Yuuri’s already clinging to him and cradled against his chest, both of them twisted around to face each other as they sit by the side of the pool, but Yuuri burrows a little closer and clings a little tighter. “Mm.”

“It’s okay if it’s still hard to take everything in,” Viktor says, patting his shoulders. “You know—you’ve been taking care of me, after… after. But you can let me take care of you, too.”

Yuuri blows out a sigh. “I don’t even know what I’m suddenly all sad for,” he mumbles. At least the sudden tears have died down—he still feels that discomfort, the ache in his chest, but the overwhelming sadness and hurt that punched him in the gut have settled back down to a low simmer, gone as fast as they came, and he manages to look up.

Viktor smiles down at him, soft and tender, the sunlight in his hair, and the breath catches in Yuuri’s throat. He’s just as beautiful as he was a few minutes ago, twirling through the ballroom. He’s… he’s _wonderful._

“There’s a very delightful Second Prince out there somewhere,” Viktor says, pausing to kiss his forehead, “who once told me I don’t _need_ a reason to have emotions. He also told me he’d take care of me regardless of whether I knew why I was sad or not.”

A rueful little smile tugs at Yuuri’s lips. “He sounds like a real charmer. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to compete.”

Viktor chuckles. “Let the King have him,” he suggests, “and I’ll have you. What do you say?”

Yuuri closes his eyes as the breeze rustles through the leaves and Viktor leans down to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I like the sound of that.”

Viktor kisses his forehead again. “But seriously, Yuuri—we’ve both been through a lot. And you’re right. So much has changed. It’s okay if you—it’s alright to have confusing feelings about that. We’re not the same people we were when we first met.”

He pauses, gently reaches over and rearranges Yuuri until he’s lying across his lap, cradled against his chest, and kisses his nose.

“But you know… I’m pretty happy with who I’ve become since I met you.” He smiles as color creeps into Yuuri’s cheeks, and Yuuri buries his face in his chest with a tiny squeak. That’s… a very high compliment. “You really do make me better, darling.”

“You make me better, too,” Yuuri mumbles into his chest, peeking up at him with burning cheeks.

Viktor suddenly grins. “Aha! Got you.”

Yuuri sits up in consternation. “You can’t say such heartfelt things and then act like you won by making me blush!”

Viktor just grins some more, clearly unrepentant as his happiness continues shining from him like the sunlight in the gardens. “Can’t I, Yuuri?”

Yuuri reaches down into the pool and splashes him. “No!”

The grin suddenly turns very, very mischievous, and Yuuri realizes that he just made a very, very big mistake.

“Sunflower,” Viktor coos, leaning over to loop his arms around his neck. “Darling. Sunshine. Light of my life. Sweetheart. I just have one little, _tiny_ question. Did you forget that water is, more or less, _my element?”_

“Oh, no,” Yuuri groans, burying his face in his hands.

“I’ll play nice and even keep it warm,” Viktor promises, kissing his knuckles. “But you did start this, so it’s really your own fault.”

A few minutes later, as they leave the maze, they pass the orchard and run into Yuuko, who takes one look at them and gapes. Yuuri is soaked, dripping, and grumpy while Viktor strolls along with a cheerful smile, hands in his pockets as he hums, his mind absolutely bursting with glee.

She stops picking apples in surprise. “What happened to _you?”_

Yuuri elbows his smug, giggly fiancé with a sopping arm. “Yuuko,” he sighs, “you made a smart choice by not marrying an elemental specialist. Tell your daughters not to be like me. They shouldn’t make my mistakes”

“Aw, Yuuri,” Viktor complains, all but bouncing on his feet. “Don’t be so _cold!”_

“I’m not going to answer that, because if you freeze me, I swear to god I’m never kissing you again,” Yuuri huffs. Viktor answers that by leaning in and nuzzling his cheek, which is endearing and adorable, and almost cute enough to make him stop pretending he’s so disgruntled.

Almost.

“My point stands.”

“Yuuuuuuri.”

Yuuko just laughs at both of them. “Okay, okay, I see how it is! Go get changed, Yuuri, then you can get back to jumping your fiancé. You really wouldn’t have lasted an hour, I was right.”

Yuuri huffs at her, trying to hide a blush as the glee pouring off Viktor in waves only intensifies. “Maybe,” he says, and grabs his dumb elemental mage fiancé’s hand. “Come on, I want dry clothes.”

“Whatever you say, darling,” Viktor croons, and follows.

* * *

“Oh, this is _good._ ” Viktor closes his eyes, leaning his head back with a deep sigh, and Yuuri watches him for a moment, enraptured by the play of the evening light on the water reflected against his skin. It’s just the two of them in the hot spring in Yuuri’s private courtyard, just like he’s been daydreaming of for months now. “This is wonderful.”

Yuuri moves closer and leans in to kiss his throat. “Mmm. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

Viktor opens his eyes, and Yuuri could get lost in how blue they are and how beautiful he is, the way his hair falls above his eyes and frames his face, the strong shape of his jaw and his proud cheekbones, just… just everything about him. He could look at him for ages.

Viktor’s voice, gentle and wry, draws him out of his thoughts. “…What are you looking at?”

Yuuri ducks his head. “You.”

Viktor’s hand reaches out of the water and tugs him closer, bringing him in to press a soft kiss to his temple. “You’re sweet, _Yuu_ -ri.”

Yuuri snuggles against his side, lays his head against his shoulder, and smiles as the heat suffuses his body. It’s soothing, just sitting here and listening to the water gently lapping at the stones, with Viktor right next to him, physically and mentally. He can feel Viktor’s arm around his shoulders, and he can feel his love pressing close to his mind, and he’s so very content.

It’s nice.

Even nicer than he’d thought it would be.

It’s really _quite_ nice to sit in the hot springs with his Vitya, without pajamas on.

Viktor’s fingers trace over his cheeks, leaving cooling water in their wake, and he opens his eyes to see his fiancé smiling down at him, impossibly fond. “You’re so lovely, my Yuuri.”

Yuuri presses a tiny kiss to his thumb. “Mm?”

“Mmhmm,” Viktor hums. He kisses Yuuri’s nose and draws him into a gentle hug, hands caressing Yuuri’s back under the water. Yuuri lets out a little breath and tips his head up, wordlessly asking for a kiss, and Viktor leans in to give it to him, still smiling. He seems in the mood for tenderness and affection now, nuzzling and caressing as he does, and Yuuri sighs softly, opening up and pulling him closer. “So lovely. So sweet.”

“Hmm,” Yuuri sighs, leaning his head into his shoulder again. “You’re good.”

“You’re good, too,” Viktor says, starting to massage his back. “Very good and very wonderful.” He’s silent for a few moments, then kisses Yuuri’s hair and adds, “You know, when I first woke up, after you saved me, and you were right there with me?”

Yuuri stills in his arms, pressing him closer. “Yeah. I remember.”

“That was one of the happiest moments of my life,” Viktor says, and Yuuri’s heart breaks a little even as it melts, and he hugs his Vitya closer, leaning into him and kissing his collarbone. “I thought I would never see you again, and there you were. There you were, and you didn’t hate me or anything. I thought maybe I died and went to heaven.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispers, his heart aching.

“Oh,” Viktor says, abashed. “I—that sounds bad, doesn’t it? I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

Yuuri lifts his head from his shoulder and looks at him carefully. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

Viktor hums softly and doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

A little uncertainty creeps in. Does Viktor want to talk about it, or should he not nag? He’s always hesitant whenever Viktor casually mentions what he’s been through, the horror of it all somehow something he can just bring up in idle conversation. It’s almost as though he’s more afraid of making Yuuri upset by bringing it up than he is of actually having emotions about it himself.

Biting his lip, Yuuri blows out a slow breath. “Vitya…”

Viktor’s voice is deceptively light. “Sorry. Really, I should think things through before saying them sometimes.”

“Don’t do that,” Yuuri pleads. “Please don’t lie.”

Viktor drops the smile, looking away, and Yuuri can feel his discomfort now, quiet but there. “…I’m sorry. I… I’m still bad at this.”

“I’m the one who almost started crying on you for no reason earlier,” Yuuri points out, trying to smile, but Viktor just shakes his head.

“You had plenty of reason. A lot has happened.”

Yuuri lets out another quiet breath. “Yeah.”

They sit together in the quiet, just listening to the water lapping at the stones and feeling the steam curl around them. The familiar sharp fingers of anxiety start to creep up Yuuri’s spine, whispering _you annoy him_ and _you coddle too much_ , sighing and wrapping around him with murmurs of _he’ll get sick of you one day._

Viktor sighs. Yuuri flinches.

Immediately, Viktor’s attention is back on him, his eyes sharp and focused instead of hazy and lost in thought, and the intensity of his gaze is almost overwhelming. “Sunflower?”

Yuuri shakes his head, letting out a tiny self-deprecating laugh. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Viktor looks pained. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that.” He hangs his head, shoulders slumping, and looks down into the water. “I’m sorry, Yuuri.”

“No!” Yuuri reaches for him, frustrated with himself and his inability to figure out how to word anything today, and presses his face into the crook of his neck. Viktor automatically wraps his arms around him, tentative as if he expects some kind of rejection, and Yuuri wills himself to relax into his arms like he was just a minute or two ago. “It’s—it’s not you, it’s… just. It’s my brain being stupid and saying you’re probably gonna dump me for telling you not to apologize.”

“Oh.” Viktor’s arms tighten. He sounds surprised and a little indignant, pressing Yuuri closer, and his fingers start rubbing soothing, slow circles into the small of his back. “Well, I can promise you I’m not.”

Yuuri snuggles into his chest and closes his eyes. “I know. I… just didn’t want to make this about me.”

“We’re capable adults,” Viktor reasons. “We can talk about both of us.”

Yuuri laughs softly as relief rolls through him, freeing up the breath trapped in his chest, kissing his neck. “You’re right. I guess… I don’t know. What was I going to say a second ago?”

“Something about when you saved me?” Viktor asks.

“Something about that,” Yuuri agrees, reaching for words again. “I guess—I don’t know.”

“I know you don’t like talking about it,” Viktor says, hugging him tighter and kissing his hair. “I’m sorry I brought it up while we were having a good time.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “I don’t mind that you brought it up! I—it’s not that I don’t like talking about it, it’s just, I don’t know.” He blows out a breath, looks up, and tips his chin up, wordlessly asking for a kiss; Viktor smiles a very soft and sweet smile as he leans down to oblige him, tender and slow. The affection helps him ground himself, pushing away the fretful thoughts, and he breathes in, eyes closed and forehead pressed to Viktor’s. “I just… get sad that it happened to you.”

“I know,” Viktor mumbles, and it’s Yuuri’s turn to offer him a reassuring kiss. “I probably should be sadder than I am, but I just think… it happened, that’s it.”

“Hmm,” Yuuri hums, and pats his cheek. “Does talking about it help you?”

Viktor shrugs. “Maybe? Not talking about it… doesn’t help, I think. I still think about it a lot.”

“Okay.” Yuuri kisses him again, opens his eyes and admires his beautiful, beautiful fiancé in the fading glow of the sunset. “Then I don’t want you to feel bad for mentioning it. We can talk about it all you want.”

Viktor quirks a tiny smile and nuzzles his nose, and Yuuri laughs softly, tangling his hands in his hair. “Alright,” he says, and hums. “I still think… that was a very nice way to wake up. I missed you so much, you know. And then you were there, and you were comforting me, and… it was nice. It was really, really nice. That was all I daydreamed of, the entire time, you know—I just wanted you back.”

Yuuri, chest tightening, can’t find words. He just tugs Viktor into a tight hug, surrounding him with _love, love, love,_ and takes a deep, shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Viktor melts into him immediately and sighs deeply as Yuuri caresses the nape of his neck. “Oh, Vitya…”

There’s a smile in his fiancé’s voice now. “I love you too, sunflower. Sometimes I still—it hits me again that you did everything that you did, all for _me,_ and…”

He lifts his head and touches Yuuri’s cheek, then kisses him with slow, simmering passion, loving and tender and hot. Yuuri melts against him and pulls him closer, his hand sliding up into his hair, and kisses back firmly. Viktor peppers his face with kisses, the heat of the water on his hands fading as he cradles Yuuri’s cheeks, and Yuuri keeps pressing tiny kisses to his fingers, his palms, his nose, his cheeks, and his smiling mouth.

“Of course I did everything for you,” he answers, arms around Viktor’s neck. “You’re my Vitya.”

“All yours,” Viktor agrees, just as Yuuri knew he would, and he smiles.

They’ve been achingly busy in the past few months, cleaning up and rebuilding court after the coup took out so many members. They’ve had to reorganize planning for their wedding and issue many, many statements about the turmoil, as well as run investigations into families working with the Stepanychevs and the spells Sergei and Ivanovich used. They had to try Petrov and Sergei, which of course came under international scrutiny, and—

It’s just been a lot, and they’ve needed this private little getaway. Yuuri can’t even begin to state how good it is to have some time for just the two of them, no extra responsibilities attached. They’ve both needed this.

Yuuri starts playing with his hair, and he lets out a soft, contented sigh as he floats in the water, shifting until his back is to Yuuri’s chest and he can sink down a bit. Yuuri hugs him close and kisses his cheek.

They sit in comfortable, companionable silence for a few minutes longer, just being close to each other and listening to the flow of the water. Overhead, the sky deepens to dusk, the first of the twinkling stars starting to peek through the indigo wisps of cloud, and Yuuri closes his eyes, immersing himself in the moment. It’s a good one, and he’ll treasure this memory for a long time.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, drawing him back to reality. “Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful?”

“You may have,” Yuuri teases, “once or twice.”

Viktor’s laughter rings out like a silver bell. “You’re beautiful. There, now it’s twice or thrice.”

“So it is,” Yuuri says, and playfully flicks water at his face.

Viktor sits up, turns around, and raises an eyebrow. “You want to play this game again, sunflower?”

“What are you going to do to me?” Yuuri asks, laughing. “We’re already in the water! And I’m hoping you wouldn’t be so horrible as to freeze my hot spring, because that would just make me sad.”

“Oh, no,” Viktor says, grinning. “I have other ideas about what to do with you.”

His arms tighten as he leans in and kisses Yuuri again, and again and again and again, as the steam rises around them. Yuuri closes his eyes and presses closer to him, enjoying the intimacy of being pressed together, just the two of them, skin-to-skin in the warmth of the water, as Viktor kisses him over and over.

When he finally pulls back a moment, Yuuri lets out a breathless laugh and touches his cheek. “Maybe I should admit defeat in splash wars more often, if this is how you handle surrenders.”

Viktor laughs too, delighted. “Maybe you should,” he agrees, and leans back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> viktor pulled him into the tub that one time, and he never forgave, and he never forgot.
> 
> title comes from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-0z71SWcG2o) !!!! :D


	4. my beloved was weighed down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri finds his husband visiting a dark place, and then leads him out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: depression, trauma recovery  
> Setting: Post-TRFL Chapter 20

Yuuri can’t find his husband.

Normally, that wouldn’t be a huge cause for concern—Viktor is certainly under no obligation to do every single thing with him, and they’ve both had busy schedules today—but he’s just heard from Yuri that Viktor never showed up for their luncheon like he was supposed to, and now he’s worried.

“Have you seen Vitya?” he asks Mila, trying not to wring his hands as he stands in the doorway. “I don’t know where he went, and he’s not answering his phone.”

Mila frowns, glancing at the window as if he’ll magically appear there. “I haven’t… Have you asked Yura?”

Yuuri bites his lip. Viktor is probably fine, and anxiety is probably just being a fuck, but there’s a nagging, frightened feeling in his gut, whispering horrible and dark _what ifs_ that he doesn’t want to consider. He doesn’t like this. “I asked him. He just said he never came to lunch. It’s been over an hour since they were supposed to meet. I don’t know where he is.”

“Huh.” Mila crosses her arms. “That’s weird. I wonder…”

Yuuri follows her gaze to the window, hugging himself as he walks over and leans his forehead against the glass, as if gazing into the courtyard will give him answers. “I probably shouldn’t be nagging. I mean… he’s allowed to need time on his own. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, but he still probably should let _someone_ know where he’s going, so we don’t worry,” Mila says, tapping her pen against the desk. “Maybe Gosha will know?”

“Already asked him.” Yuuri shakes his head. “He doesn’t know, either. Neither does Yakov. Or Lilia.”

“Damn,” Mila mutters. “I’m guessing you’ve already checked his usual haunts?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri sighs, opening the balcony door and stepping out. Maybe Viktor will be right on his way home, crossing the courtyard—maybe he just went out into town and lost track of time. Maybe he’ll be whistling all cheerfully, coming back to sweep him up into a hug and laughing as he apologizes for scaring him. Maybe…

…Maybe he won’t see anything but the empty, abandoned guardhouse that still haunts them both.

Despairing slightly, Yuuri reaches out mentally, sweeping his surroundings for what feels like the thousandth time. Where is his husband? He wants his husband—

_sadhurtingsadhurting-paintears-helpless-grief-hurtinghurtingsad_

The breath is torn from his throat in a strangled gasp before he’s even aware of it. “Vitya,” he breathes, running to the edge of the balcony. “Vitya, oh god!”

“What is it?” Mila hurries outside to join him, but he hardly notices, attention solely on the damned guardhouse. Why are Viktor’s emotions coming from there? Why is he there, why is he there, _why is he there, who is hurting him!_

“Vitya,” Yuuri gasps out again. He has to get to him, he has to help him, his husband needs him, he needs him he’s hurting he _needs him!_

“Yuuri!” Mila cries, but Yuuri ignores her. He’s so frantic and desperate to get to Viktor as fast as he can that he hardly notices that he’s vaulted over the bannister and started climbing down the gnarled old tree next to the balcony until his sleeve gets caught on a branch. “Yuuri, what are you doing?!”

“I have to get to him!” Yuuri cries back, tugging furiously until it comes free, a tiny twig snapping off in the process. He scrambles down the rest of the way as best as he can, leaving Mila to stare incredulously, or maybe she goes back inside, he doesn’t know—he doesn’t look back. He just runs.

There are no spells keeping him away from the guardhouse, no guards posted to keep Vitya locked away. That helps the anxiety a little bit, but only a little bit, and Yuuri all but flies into the front room. Tears clog his throat for a moment at the sight of the open trapdoor, but he swallows them, chest heaving, and climbs down the ladder.

There’s one open cell door, light spilling into the corridor from its outlines, and even though he’s never been down here himself, Yuuri knows from Viktor and Phichit’s descriptions that that’s the cell. That’s the fucking cell.

He all but sprints to the door.

Viktor stands before him, hands at his sides and not tied down. His back is to the door, and if he’s noticed Yuuri’s entrance, he makes no indication. The air is absolutely frigid.

At least nobody’s hurting him now. At least he’s not imprisoned. The hard knot of anxiety in his stomach loosens, changes to soft, quiet horror and sorrow, melts into protectiveness and love and a hundred thousand other things. Yuuri wipes at his eyes, takes a deep breath, and shuffles a tiny step forward.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says softly, heart twisting in his chest as he lingers in the stone doorway. The room before him is stark and dimly lit, with small, imposing walls and a tiny, unassuming cot shoved against one wall. There’s a cabinet, too, a cabinet that used to be stocked and full but now lies open and bare.

Viktor doesn’t turn around. “Why shouldn’t I?”

There’s an edge in his voice, something sharp, something desperate, something brittle. The air is cold, cold enough that Yuuri shivers even as he pulls his husband’s sweater more tightly about himself, and it swirls with a carefully-reined-in storm of magic.

Everything about this is a cry for help.

“Because this place hurts you,” Yuuri answers.

Viktor is silent.

But his shoulders droop, and his chin lowers, and the room seems to close in on him, even as he closes in on himself; he wraps his arms around himself and sighs, shaking his head. Yuuri doesn’t know whether it’s agreement or defeat. He tentatively steps forward, not looking at the cot, not looking at the cabinet, not looking anywhere but at Viktor.

(That cot is where Viktor was tied down for weeks, drugged and taunted and tortured. That cabinet was charmed to stay cold, to keep his blood stored safely for whenever Sergei needed to renew the spell. This room…)

“Vitya…”

Viktor takes in and lets out a shaky breath. “Yuuri?”

The second Yuuri’s fingers tentatively brush his shoulder, the icy spell of stillness breaks. Viktor turns around, his eyes lost and plaintive, and he lays his hand over Yuuri’s with quiet desperation, as if to beg him not to pull away. His touch is so cold it almost burns.

“Hold me, please?” he whispers.

Yuuri opens his arms.

Viktor buries his face in his shoulder and shudders, trembling, as his hands settle against Yuuri’s back (slow and hesitant, as if he’s afraid of being cast aside, and god, that breaks Yuuri’s heart). Yuuri holds him tighter, stroking his hair, and rubs his back.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, running his hand in big, slow circles, up and down, up and down. “I’m here, Vitya. Come on. Let’s go.”

Viktor is silent for a long, long moment, and heartbeats pass like water flowing down a stream. He’s tense, still quivering, and the lines of his body are all hard and jagged as they press into Yuuri’s embrace. Yuuri can only imagine what his Vitya must be feeling, seeing this place, remembering. His mind is racing, and Yuuri holds him, holds him, holds him.

Fuck, he hates this cell.

“Let’s go?” he urges, again, tapping two fingers against Viktor’s spine, at the base of his neck. “We can go upstairs and sit in the sun, darling. It’s nice outside.”

Viktor finally speaks, after a moment longer. His voice is soft and sad and hollow.

“I thought… I thought that coming here, and seeing this place now that it has no power over me, would help,” he admits, pressing closer. “I thought I would be able to let it go.”

A pang stabs through Yuuri’s chest. “Oh, Vitya…”

“But it didn’t.” Viktor’s voice hitches. “I can’t. I—I’m still just as… just as b-broken.”

Yuuri’s heart breaks. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, holding him tighter.

He doesn’t know what to say because just—just feeling all this hurt from Viktor is painful and oh, god, he loves him and he wishes he could just wave a hand and take the pain away, could undo all the harm those disgusting men did, could just kiss it all better. But he can’t.

He tries anyway.

“Oh, Vitya,” he murmurs, cradling his husband’s head in one hand. “Oh, my sweet Vitya… they’re not going to hurt you, ever again. You’re safe. You’re safe, and I’m here. I’m here. You’re not—you aren’t alone, okay? I’m here.”

He tips Viktor’s chin up with one hand, keeping the other firmly about his waist, and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. They’re cold, just like the rest of him, and Yuuri shivers despite himself even as he kisses his husband again, knowing that affection grounds him, that it helps when he’s trapped in his own mind and he can’t find the way out on his own. Viktor’s eyelashes flutter as he closes his eyes, and Yuuri rubs their noses together, caressing his cheek.

“Yuuri…”

Viktor’s voice is soft and sad and sweet, and he leans in for another kiss, until Yuuri winds both his arms around his neck and pulls him closer, cradling his head and kissing his mouth, his cheeks, his nose, his eyes. He loves his Vitya, loves his sweet husband, and hates this fucking cell and what happened here.

“I’m here,” he reminds him, pressing their foreheads together, cupping Viktor’s cheek, and waiting until he opens those ice-blue eyes before he smiles, trying to be as reassuring as he possibly can. “I’m here, and you’re healing, and… and we’re together.”

“I wish I’d heal _faster,_ ” Viktor mutters, closing his eyes again and leaning heavily into Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri, heart aching, gives him a squeeze and surrounds his mind with love, and warmth, and _safemine-safe-safe-mine,_ until some of the tension starts to dissipate from his shoulders. “I wasn’t always so damn scared of a _cot.”_

He sounds so disparaging, so disgusted with himself. Yuuri hurts for him, pours _loveyou-loveyou-safe-safe_ into his mind, adds a touch of _soothe-soothe-calm_ , and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.

“And I wasn’t always so scared of the alleyway by the orphanage,” he murmurs, swallowing hard.

Viktor’s arms tighten around him fiercely, and he’s suddenly barraged by _loveyou-protectyou-safe-mine-safe_ as if Viktor is standing on a mountaintop and shouting into a megaphone, hoping Yuuri can hear, and it’s so… it’s so _sweet_ that tears prick at his eyes.

“Nobody will ever lay a finger on you again,” Viktor pledges, voice low and rough. His hands on Yuuri’s back are frigid. “I won’t _ever_ let them touch you.”

Yuuri can’t help a sigh as he looks at his husband. Here he is, trying to comfort Viktor, and Viktor turns around and makes him feel so safe he could melt. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Viktor kisses his forehead, squeezes tight. “My Yuuri.”

“Yours,” Yuuri agrees, cupping his cheek. “And Vitya?”

Viktor presses his lips together, obviously still hurting but trying to be strong. “Yes?”

He doesn’t have to be strong all the time. Yuuri can be strong for the both of them, for now. He cups Viktor’s cheek in a hand, guides his gaze up, and waits until he meets his eyes. “I won’t ever let anyone touch you, either.”

Viktor takes in a deep breath. Lets it out shakily, and looks around, though he presses close to Yuuri as he does, and Yuuri slides his hand up to his neck as if to shield him from a hidden danger. “I hate this place.”

“Then let’s leave,” Yuuri suggests, thumb stroking over his Vitya’s lower lip. “Let’s go somewhere nicer.”

Viktor shakes his head, as if Yuuri isn’t getting the point. “This should just be a place. I don’t want to hate it.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, and shakes his head, at a loss.

He doesn’t know what to say. He wishes none of this happened, wishes Viktor wasn’t kidnapped and tormented, wishes… but it _happened._ How do they pick up the pieces after… after… after something like _that?_ There are no shortcuts, no quick fixes, no corners to cut.

He touches Viktor’s cheek again. “I… Just give yourself time, sweetheart. Give yourself some more time.”

Viktor leans his face into Yuuri’s palm and lets out a deep, deep sigh.

“I guess,” he says, dissatisfied, and Yuuri can feel that, too. He sends more affection, not knowing what else he _can_ do, and Viktor responds with a tiny smile and a gentle kiss. “I don’t really have any other options, do I?”

“Mm…” Yuuri strokes his hair back from his face. “You could come back outside with me, and you could let me fuss over you for a while.”

A smile flickers across Viktor’s face at that, fleeting but real. “Mm. That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Yeah.” Yuuri nuzzles his nose. “Not bad.”

Viktor looks at him for a long moment, pressing closer agan, and takes in a deep breath. He lets it out slowly, touches Yuuri’s cheek with one of his cold hands, and murmurs, “There’s leaves in your hair.”

Yuuri blinks, then ducks his head, flushing. “Oh. Oops. I, um. Climbed a tree?”

Viktor blinks back at him, surprised, and then lets out a soft, breathy chuckle. “It’s cute,” he adds, picking one of the leaves out and holding it up. They both stare at it for a moment, and then Viktor tucks it into his pocket, wrapping his arm around Yuuri’s waist and closing his eyes. “You’re cute.”

Yuuri laughs quietly and kisses him again, needing him to know, needing him to _feel_ how loved he is. “Hey… do you remember? Our wedding day…”

“Of course I do,” Viktor whispers. His eyes are suddenly, suspiciously bright, just at the mention of it, and Yuuri presses their foreheads together again, cupping his cheeks and sending him _love, love, love._ “Sunflower…”

Yuuri smiles for him, nuzzles his nose, and drops his voice to a soft, breathy murmur. The world shrinks to just the two of them, no cot or cabinet or cell. Just them. “Remember, right before the public ceremony, how I panicked really badly and you had to redo my makeup in ten minutes because I cried it all off?”

Viktor offers a watery smile. “Yeah. My poor Yuurasha.”

Yuuri nuzzles his nose again, unable to ignore the desperate stirring of love and deep, deep fondness in his chest. “Remember what you told me then?”

Viktor chuckles and wipes at his eyes. “That… I have some really good waterproof mascara?”

Yuuri laughs. “No! Not that, silly.” He gives his husband another kiss, slow and gentle, and can’t hold back a soft sigh as Viktor’s lips move with his. He tastes like strawberry lip balm. It’s familiar and comforting and sweet. When they finally break apart, he kisses the corner of his mouth and murmurs, “You told me, ‘Yuuri, no amount of panic or crying is going to make you any less the wonderful man I’m marrying today.’ I remember that so clearly, Vitya. Do you?”

“I remember,” Viktor says softly. “Sometimes I’m still amazed you agreed to marry me.”

Yuuri kisses him again. “Me too. I mean—sometimes I’m still amazed you wanted me to marry you, not that—I’m not amazed I agreed, of _course_ I’d agree—hey, stop _laughing_ at me, I’m trying to be helpful here—”

Viktor pulls him close, lays his cheek against his hair, and sighs, a slight smile curving his lips. “I know where you’re going with this.”

“Do you?” Yuuri asks, pressing his cheek into Viktor’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist. Viktor nods against his hair, and his touch is still cool but not so cold anymore, and Yuuri loves him so, so much. He relaxes a little, sinking into Viktor’s arms, and sways their embrace slightly, closing his eyes for a moment.

They haven’t said it in so many words, but he’s sure that a component of what’s bothering Viktor is the ever-present guilt, too, that he’s taking too long to recover and that it’s going to chase Yuuri away, and that Yuuri will realize that the man he married isn’t all he was chalked up to be. That’s not true, and he’s glad that Viktor knows he’ll always love him.

“Good,” he murmurs, kissing his husband’s neck. “Because it’s true.”

Viktor swallows hard. There’s a tentative little stirring of trepidation and hesitance and needy, plaintive want, floating at the top of his consciousness, and Yuuri kisses his neck again, trying to encourage him to speak. He does, after a moment. “Just because… ah… just because I know where you’re going… it doesn’t mean, um, that. That you shouldn’t… say it anyway?”

_Because I still need to hear it,_ goes unsaid. Yuuri strokes his finger around the shell of his ear and kisses his jaw. “Well, Vitya,” he says, tightening the arm around Viktor’s waist, “no amount of crying, or panic, or numbness, or however else this hurts you, is going to make you any less of the wonderful man I married.”

Viktor is quiet, but there’s a surge of overwhelming emotion (gratitude, love, and relief, among them) as he sags in Yuuri’s arms. Yuuri sends love back to him in reply.

“You’re never too much,” he adds quietly. “You’re just enough.”

“I love you,” Viktor whispers. He’s trembling again, trying to hold back tears, and Yuuri aches for him, wants to wrap him up in blankets and keep him safe forever. He rubs his back and kisses his cheeks, cradles his head (why doesn’t he have more arms? He could use more arms to hug Viktor more), and presses close to him.

“I love you too, darling.”

“Can we…” Viktor takes a deep breath, opens his eyes again, and blinks a few times to clear them. “Can we go somewhere else? I… I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Relieved beyond measure, Yuuri nods. He hates this cell, hates that it hurts Viktor, and hates that Viktor came here when he was already feeling vulnerable. Hates that it still has such a hold on him. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go. Do you want to sit in the gardens? Or we can go upstairs and take a nap together. Or maybe a movie?”

“A nap sounds nice,” Viktor admits. “I’m… really tired. I just don’t know if I can sleep.”

“We can try,” Yuuri decides, keeping one arm around his waist and leading him from the cell. Their footsteps echo as they walk down the dim, musty hall to the trapdoor. “We can get some blankets and some tea and sit for a little bit, and then we’ll lie down and sleep for a while, and then I’ll hold you some more and it’ll be okay. Okay?”

“It will?” Viktor asks, his voice very small. Yuuri hates that he has to let go of him for them to climb the ladder out of here.

He lets Viktor go first, follows quickly, and pulls him into a kiss as soon as they’re out in the dusty guardhouse again.

“It will,” he answers. It’s a promise.

When they get outside into the afternoon sunshine, Viktor relaxes slightly, and Yuuri smiles, relieved. He takes his hand as they walk back toward the palace, not wanting the two of them to appear too vulnerable or affectionate in front of any courtiers who might be present, and strokes his thumb over the base of Viktor’s.

_Loveyou-loveyou-loveyou,_ he sends as they cross the courtyard.

_Mine-safe-love,_ he adds, squeezing Viktor’s hand as he opens the door for him.

_Protectyou-mine-love-safe,_ he sends again as they climb the stairs to the residential wing.

By the time they reach their suite, Viktor looks like he can breathe a little more comfortably again. Yuuri opens the door, and they walk inside together, nodding politely to their guard, and then—

Viktor pulls him into an abrupt, fervent kiss.

“Oh,” he gasps into his husband’s mouth, hands automatically sliding up his arms to his shoulders. Viktor tilts his head slightly, sucks at Yuuri’s lower lip, and presses him closer, until his knees threaten to give out and he lets out a tiny moan.

Viktor pulls back, then, just enough to look at him, and kisses him again, gentler this time, soft and sweet and loving. Yuuri melts against his chest, eyes fluttering closed again.

“Thank you,” Viktor murmurs, stroking his hair back from his forehead and kissing him there, too. “Thank you for finding me. Thank you for bringing me back out. Thank you for taking care of me, Yuuri, my love, my heart, my—”

Yuuri crushes him in a fierce hug and laughs breathlessly. “Oh, Vitya. You’re welcome. I’ll always find you, don’t you know?”

They’re not just talking about wandering the palace. Viktor buries his face in his hair. “I know.”

Yuuri gives him a squeeze and just holds him for a moment. He’s warmer now, no longer magically freezing, and he smells faintly like his favorite floral lotion. They stand together, pressed close enough that Yuuri can feel his heartbeat, and just breathe; the rise and fall of Viktor’s chest is calming, a reminder that he’s alright, that he’s here, that he’s going to be okay.

Yuuri kisses his jaw and slowly lets go, steps back, and smiles up at him, his chest tight and full of wistful warmth. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s make some tea. What kind do you want?”

“Pomegranate green.” Viktor reaches out and catches his hand, holds it tight. “…Yuuri?”

Yuuri pauses, looks at him, tilts his head to the side. “Yes?”

“I…”

Viktor hesitates, looks down at the floor, chews at his lip. Yuuri slowly turns to face him again, taking his other hand, and seconds pass like sand in an hourglass.

Words evidently fail, because after a few moments of standing together like this, Viktor hisses out a frustrated breath and lets his head thunk forward onto Yuuri’s shoulder, shoulders hunched in on himself. Yuuri wraps his arms around him immediately, hands pressed against his husband’s back. Viktor shifts against him.

Touching his mind with a gentle, questioning probe, Yuuri sends him _love-love-love_ again, _love_ and _safety-comfort-safesafewarm_ and _mine, minesweetmine_. Viktor feels… fragile. Vulnerable. Brittle. He’s pulled back from the brink, but a stiff breeze might easily send him toppling over the edge into despair, and Yuuri feels his heart swell with fierce, resolute protectiveness.

Viktor lets out a shaky sigh.

“I… I want,” he starts, trying again, but he stops there, and Yuuri threads fingers into his hair to soothe him. It’s okay if he can’t find the words. Words are hard. “I want… can you…”

He trails off, and Yuuri rubs his back, waiting several seconds before he prompts gently, “What do you need, Vitya?”

“I feel—I feel _better,_ ” Viktor mumbles, “but I… I’m still… I don’t want… please stay? I—I need you, please?”

He wants _comfort,_ Yuuri realizes, kissing his hair and holding him tight. Oh, his poor, sweet Vitya. His darling, gentle Vitya. “I know. I wouldn’t leave you for the world.”

Viktor relaxes slightly, swallows hard, and nods, finally lifting his head after several heartbeats. Yuuri runs his hands through his hair, stroking it back from his sweet face, and caresses his cheeks. His Vitya is noble and beautiful and kingly, but in this moment he’s also soft and vulnerable and oh-so-very-human, just a traumatized man with a tender heart, and Yuuri pulls him into a hug again, rubbing his back.

“Do you want tea right now?” he asks, rocking them from side to side. “Or do you just want to lie down?”

Viktor hesitates for a long moment. “Um… tea. We can make tea.”

Yuuri squeezes him tight. “Okay. Pomegranate green for the both of us.”

He has to let go to walk to the kitchenette in their suite, but Viktor doesn’t, keeping his arms wrapped around his waist and clinging to his back. Yuuri laughs at that, amused and fond, and in a few minutes they take their mugs to the bedroom, setting them on the nightstand to cool.

“I’m cancelling the meeting you have at six,” Yuuri informs him, taking out his phone. “You’re gonna take this evening off to rest. Husband’s orders.”

Viktor frowns, looking at what he’s typing. “The Ryabovs won’t like that, Yuurasha. I can go. I’ll probably feel better by then.”

“No. I’ll inform them you’re not well, and if they can’t reschedule, that either Yura or I can meet with them, but you’re going to rest.” Yuuri sends the message and puts his phone down, hugging his husband. “You wouldn’t make me go to a meeting if I was having a bad time.”

“I’m the king,” Viktor protests half-heartedly, leaning into him. Yuuri can feel his relief and his guilt, mingled and intertwined—he doesn’t _want_ to go to the meeting, but he feels bad for taking time to take care of himself—and squeezes him tighter, his arms pressing against the firm muscle of Viktor’s back. “I’m _supposed_ to do this…”

“And I’m the king’s consort,” Yuuri says, “and I’m supposed to do _this._ ”

He scoops Viktor up, one arm supporting his back and the other under his thighs, and carries him to the closet, ignoring both the yelp of surprise and then the token protest of “Yuuri, I can walk!”. He has to turn sideways to fit through the doorway, and Viktor clutches at him, trying not to giggle as he curls tighter to avoid bumping his foot on the doorframe.

Finally, Yuuri deposits him on the stool in the closet and tugs the embroidered jacket from his shoulders. Viktor lets him, smiling up at him with adoration in his eyes as he sets it aside and reaches for his shirt.

Before he can tug him back up to make quick work of his pants, Viktor catches his wrist and tugs him down into his lap, pressing him close, cheek squished against his shoulder. “Yuuri…”

“Vitya,” Yuuri hums, arms around him. His skin is warm, finally, not cold or even cool, and Yuuri strokes his back, smiling to himself when he feels his husband shiver. “Come on. Nap time. Let’s get you out of these clothes, you can’t nap in this!’

“You too,” Viktor murmurs, hands sliding down his body to untie the ribbon at the small of his back. Immediately, his robes loosen, and Viktor hums to himself as he continues undoing the fastenings, sliding them from Yuuri’s shoulders and leaving him in his sheer undershirt. The air is cool, flowing right through it, and he shivers, too. Viktor’s hands are warm as they smooth the fabric against his chest, his fingers tracing the lace flowers and patterns around the collar. “My beautiful Yuuri.”

“Vitya…” Yuuri kisses him, heart full because of how gentle and loving the man in his arms is. He _hates_ the awful people that hurt him so horribly, and he’s never, ever letting anyone lay a finger on him again—he loves him, he loves him, he loves him. “You’re cute.”

“ _You’re_ cute,” Viktor says, laying his head on his shoulder. Yuuri holds him close, cradles his head in his arms, and strokes his hair, content. “Yuuri…?”

“Mmm?”

“How long is enough time?”

Yuuri stills for a moment. “However long you need.”

Viktor makes a tiny, dissatisfied sound. “But how long can I have until it’s too long?”

Yuuri shakes his head slowly, then faster, pressing him closer as his brows knit together. “Vitya, there _is_ no too long. You know you’re stuck with me forever, right?”

Viktor snorts humorlessly, lifting his head to look up, plaintive. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

Yuuri gives him a look, strokes aside the silvery hair flopping across his eye, and kisses his brow. Forever is forever, and he knows Viktor knows it, too. “You should get a haircut soon… it’s getting long.”

“I’m thinking of growing it out,” Viktor says, resting his chin on his shoulder. “I used to have it long when I was younger. I might do that again.”

“Mmm.” Yuuri strokes his fingers through it, admiring how soft and silky it is as it parts around his hand. “That’d be nice. I saw the pictures—you were adorable.”

Viktor huffs out a soft laugh. “Of course you’d think so.”

There’s something calming about talking about their daily lives, about nothing in particular, that’s reassuring in a wholly different way than dramatic declarations of love and sweeping generalizations. Yuuri keeps playing with the ends of his husband’s hair and strokes the nape of his neck, thinking to himself that it’s nice to hold him, nice to be held, and Viktor lets out a slow, deep sigh.

It’s like _we should get you a haircut_ is the proof backing up _you have me forever,_ Yuuri thinks, petting Viktor’s hair. He’s letting him know that he really is here, that their life together is real, not just in the big things but also the small. Viktor has him forever, and that means he’s going to be here, commenting on his hair.

The thought makes him chuckle, hugging Viktor close and nuzzling his temple, and Viktor squeezes back. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing.” Yuuri hums, leaning his cheek against his head. “Just happy.”

Viktor’s breath catches in his throat. “Oh.”

_Yes,_ Yuuri thinks, prodding his shoulder with an indignant finger. _Oh. You make me happy. Deal with it._

Viktor reaches up and catches his hand, brings it to his cheek, leans into it, and sighs, soft and content. Yuuri squishes his cheeks fondly, and he laughs. “Can I make a suggestion, sunflower?”

“Of course.”

Viktor kisses the inside of his wrist. “You might be even happier if we both got rid of our pants.”

Yuuri laughs and with reluctance, pulls away from his lap. “You’re right!”

He changes into a pair of soft, silky pajamas while Viktor pulls on a fluffy robe, and then they join hands as they walk to their bed. They climb under the covers, fluffing the pillows up against the headboard, and Viktor wriggles into his arms, settling against his chest and curling up between his legs. Yuuri pats his head.

“Soft,” Viktor mumbles, closing his eyes.

“Bony,” Yuuri answers, ruffling his hair. A lock falls across Viktor’s nose, and he blows it upward with a pout. Yuuri laughs when it falls back down. “Sit up a bit, drink your tea.”

Viktor obediently scoots up to sit next to him, and Yuuri passes him his teacup, petting his hair. They spent enough time cuddling in the closet that their tea isn’t scalding anymore, so they sip it in peace, letting a comfortable silence fall. Yuuri keeps his hand in Viktor’s hair, idly stroking back and forth and rubbing the soft strands between his fingers and thumb, and Viktor offers him an immeasurably fond look.

Eventually, Yuuri taps the top of his head. “Did anything happen earlier?” he asks, voice soft. “Why were you down there?”

Viktor bites his lip.

“I…” He trails off, takes a deep breath, and tries again. Yuuri slides his hand down to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly. “It’s stupid, honestly. I was—you know, the medical wing needs their budget approved so they can order new stocks? I was going over the inventory with Doctor Zykova, and I saw the needles, and… I just started thinking, and I couldn’t stop.”

“Oh, Vitya,” Yuuri breathes, putting his mug back on the nightstand and pulling his husband into his arms. “Sweet Vitya. That’s not stupid. You—oh, my darling Vitya, of course that would upset you. Come here.”

Viktor finishes his tea, sets his mug aside too, and sinks into his chest, pressing his face into his neck. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Yuuri kisses his hair, sends him _love-mine-safe_ again, and squeezes him tight. “It’s okay. Next time—next time, if you can’t stop thinking, come find me, okay? I promise I’ll never be too busy for you when you need me.”

“I don’t want to make you obligated to always take care of me just because I’m always a mess,” Viktor mumbles into his shoulder, arms winding about his waist. “I want—I want you to be happy. And to enjoy your time with me. So you don’t… get sick of me.”

“I want _you_ to be happy,” Yuuri objects, shaking his head. He doesn’t want Viktor feeling that way. “And you aren’t _making_ me do anything. Besides, I do have fun with you—you dance with me, you make me laugh, and—last week! You took me skating! I had such a good time! Silly man. You make me so, so happy. How could I ever get sick of my Vitya?”

Viktor makes a dissatisfied, low sound deep in his chest. “Even though he keeps acting like you’re going to? You’re not getting tired of having to tell him otherwise?”

“Vitya,” Yuuri murmurs, nuzzling his face into his hair. “Whenever I have to come cling to you and beg you to tell me you don’t actually want to get rid of me because my dumb brain is screaming that you do, does that annoy you or make you love me any less?”

Viktor shakes his head immediately, almost panicked. “I love you so much!”

“This is the same thing,” Yuuri promises, kissing the part in his hair. “I like being able to help you when you need help. It makes me feel like you won’t get sick of me, either. And I like making you happy again.”

Viktor huffs, going quiet for several seconds before he squirms and admits, “I—I can’t figure out how to argue with that.”

Yuuri grins, tipping his chin up, and kisses his nose. “That means I’ve won.”

“Mmph,” Viktor grouses, but he can’t quite disguse the smile tugging at his lips. “You did.”

Yuuri kisses him gently, long and slow and sweet, and melts when Viktor nips at his lower lip and deepens the kiss, pressing him back into the pillows and holding him tight. He runs his hands up to cup his husband’s jaw and to cradle the back of his head, pressing him closer, and Viktor lets out a soft, breathy moan.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs, nuzzling Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri kisses his forehead, runs his hand down the back of his neck to rub slow, soothing circles between his shoulderblades, and holds him close, letting him snuggle back between his legs and lean into his chest again. “My Yuurasha. My sunflower.”

“My Vitya,” Yuuri coos back, taking off his glasses, finally, and putting them next to his empty mug. He snuggles down into the bed and nuzzles Viktor’s hair. “How are you feeling now?”

“Kinda better,” Viktor mumbles. “Tired.”

“Rest,” Yuuri says, kissing his hair and sending him a gentle brush of _safe-sleep-safe_. “Rest, dear. I’ll be right here.”

Viktor yawns, heaves a deep sigh, and then wriggles down into the blankets, rearranging himself and curling up. He picks up the hem of Yuuri’s nightshirt and sticks his head under it, laying his cheek against his stomach, and Yuuri is startled into a laugh, poking his nose through the silk.

“Vitya! Oh my god, can you even breathe?”

Viktor reaches up and takes his hand. “Mm-hmm.”

His breath tickles against Yuuri’s skin, and Yuuri has to stifle a giggle as he blows a tiny kiss against his belly. He pats Viktor’s cheek and gently teases, “Okay, silly man,” and pulls the blanket up, tucking it around Viktor’s shoulders. “Cozy?”

“Yeah,” Viktor sighs. “Love you.”

Yuuri hums, squeezes him close, and whispers another tiny empathic kiss into his mind. “Love you too. Sleep well, okay?”

“Stay?” Viktor asks, plaintive and gentle, and Yuuri looks down at the lump in his shirt with so much fondness his heart might burst.

“Of course I will,” he says tenderly, and it’s a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVQ6gfj--4k) by florence + the machine!


	5. on some distant shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Viktor gets to take his husband on the honeymoon he's always dreamed of.
> 
> (Or: two fools in love make the best of a few days on a private island.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY RIKI!!!!! as soon as you messaged me laughing about the honeymoon ask on tumblr i knew I Had To Do This for u and i hope u like it!!!! i love u thank u for being such a great friend over the past year and then some!!!! ♥

Viktor has been waiting for this day his entire _life._

They’ve been flying over the sea for hours now, and the sun is slowly rising to meet them, when the sky-carriage finally starts circling to land. The sea below sparkles tantalizingly in the rising sun, and he could not be more thrilled. They’re finally on their honeymoon. Their _honeymoon!_ And it’s five days for just the two of them. He can see the villa he rented out just for them, growing bigger as the tiny, private island gets closer, and excitement flutters in his chest.

Yuuri is still taking his post-movie nap, all adorable and curled up in bed, and as Viktor turns back from the window to look at him, his heart melts all over again. His husband is so precious, loosely snuggling against a pillow in place of Viktor himself, and the way his hair spills over his forehead and the peaceful expression on his face—everything about him, really—is all just… perfect.

Unable to stop smiling, Viktor leaves the window seat and stretches luxuriously, then crosses the small room and clambers back onto the bed. “Sweetheart,” he croons, crawling over to Yuuri to kiss his cheek. “My Yuuri, wake up! We’re here!”

“Mmmngh?” Yuuri mumbles, eyelashes fluttering endearingly against his cheeks as he slowly opens his eyes and blinks, so _cute!_ “Here…? Now…?”

Viktor nuzzles his nose, unable to resist his sleepy charms. God, how is he always so adorable? “We’ll be landing in about twenty minutes, my love. Wake up?”

“I could sleep another twenty minutes,” Yuuri counters, but he extricates his arms from the blankets and reaches for Viktor, using the action of tightening them around his waist to haul his shoulders from his pillow into Viktor’s lap. “Mmm… hug.”

“Hug!” Viktor cheers, scooping him up into a sitting position for a proper hug. Yuuri lets out a wordless whine of protest and bonelessly slumps against his chest, head flopping onto his shoulder, but he squeezes back when Viktor kisses his hair. “Time to get out of bed, Yuuri! It’s morning!”

Yuuri yawns, lifting his head from Viktor’s shoulder and looking to the light streaming in from the window as the sky-carriage descends. Viktor hugs him closer, delighted with the way his husband melts into him, cozy and pliant and content, with just a little touch. Getting to hold his Yuuri like this is a dream come true, in so many ways; his Yuuri has been his husband for three months now, but every time he remembers it, he still gets giddy. And the warmth of a soft, just-woken Yuuri, pressing into him with lazy contentment, feels more vibrant than all the _happily-ever-afters_ in all the storybooks he’s ever read.

“It _is_ morning,” Yuuri finally sighs, turning his head to nuzzle into Viktor’s cheek for a moment. Viktor hums, and then one of Yuuri’s familiar, sweet little empathic touches brushes across his mind like the touch of the sun on his face, and he beams. “Mmm… should I put pants on?”

“Well, you don’t _have_ to,” Viktor laughs. “It’s just us. Nobody else. Just you and me, for five whole days…”

“Just us,” Yuuri repeats softly, and that seems to fill him with wonder, slowly and gradually, until after several seconds he looks up at Viktor with big, shiny eyes. “It’s just us!”

“It’s just us!” Viktor laughs gleefully, and Yuuri lets out a whoop and tackles him down onto the bed, laughing back. “Yuuri!”

“Nobody else around,” Yuuri grins, cupping his cheeks, “and no responsibilities, and just me and you! God! I’ve—it’s really happening, we’re here!”

“We’re here!” Viktor turns his head to kiss the ring on his darling’s finger, thrilled. “And for these next five days, nobody’s gonna bother us. It’s just me,” and he kisses Yuuri’s palm, “and you.”

Theoretically, someone _could_ bother them—they’re on standby to head home immediately, if something calls for it, and immediately means _immediately._ Phichit enchanted a charm that will shadow-transport them home on the spot once activated, and it’s packed deep in their luggage. If something urgent happens that Yuri and Mila and Georgi can’t handle, they’ll head home right away, though the thought makes Viktor’s heart sink.

But it’s better to ignore that, especially because of the way Yuuri is beaming at him, just as bright as the sunlight streaming through their open curtains (if not brighter). His smile warms Viktor’s already melting heart, and then he starts to laugh, excited and adorable and delightful and _perfect perfect perfect._ “Oh my god, Vitya, I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t at some court worrying about _something_ or other, and now we’re _here,_ and, ohhh my god this is going to be _so good._ ”

“It _is,_ ” Viktor coos, pulling him down to smush a kiss to one of his adorable, round, squishy cheeks. “I can’t remember, either. I think it’s been at least… five years? More than that, actually, I bet. Most of my vacations were planned with _some_ kind of politics in mind.”

“I’m not sleeping at all for the next hundred-and-twenty hours,” Yuuri announces resolutely, sitting up. “I have to enjoy every second of this.”

“But darling,” Viktor pouts, sitting up and reaching for him again. “You’d deprive your _husband_ of the ability to cuddle with you in bed and wake you up in the morning with kisses and love?”

Yuuri frowns. “Well, my husband—” and then he breaks off, lighting up again. “Vitya, we’re _married!”_

Viktor holds out his arms. “We are! We’re married, and you’re my husband and I’m your husband, and we’re married!”

“We’re married!” Yuuri exults again, and then he gives Viktor a tight, tight squeeze and bounds out of bed. “Come on come on, let’s go explore!”

Viktor jumps up to follow him to the main room of the carriage’s cabin, where he’s out on the tiny balcony that’s normally reserved for public appearances. “Yuuri, wait! We haven’t landed yet!”

“Hey, guess what, uninhabited island!” Yuuri yells out into the sunlight, leaning so far over the bannister that Viktor hurries to wrap his arms around his hips to anchor him, worried he’ll fall. Yuuri lets him be his support, taking both hands from the bannister to wave them enthusiastically. “We’re _married!_ And nobody’s ever gonna touch us again! _”_

There is, of course, no answer but the gulls, and the wind,d and the soughing of the waves.

(There is, of course, no answer more delightful than that.)

* * *

 

“Hey—get back here and let me put more sunscreen on your back,” Yuuri says, grabbing his arm and tugging him back under the shade of the villa’s back porch. “You missed several spots.”

Viktor wants to pout, but that’s really hard given how giddy he is to be here, watching the crystal-clear water wash up on the shoreline just a few meters away. Yuuri pushes him down onto the edge of one of the reclining lounge chairs and steps behind him with a firm empathic nudge that clearly means _stay._ “Yuuuuuri, I wanna play in the water!”

“And the water’s in the sun, which means first we put sunscreen on your back,” Yuuri says, though he’s not without mercy, because he tugs Viktor’s sheer cover-up off and kisses the back of his neck before he squirts sunscreen into his hands to get to work. “Or else my husband becomes a lobster man, and then I can’t hug him.”

Viktor snorts. “Darling, I assure you, even if I _do_ get sunburned, you have all the permission in the world to continue hugging me.”

“Knowing you, that’s not an _if_ so much as a _when,_ ” Yuuri teases, rubbing the sunscreen into Viktor’s skin in big, slow circles. “You’re so pale!”

“We are here on our honeymoon, and getting sunburned isn’t romantic,” Viktor declares, smiling and closing his eyes as the sea breeze ruffles his hair. He’s so content right now, sitting here with Yuuri’s hands stroking his shoulders and the sound of the waves sighing in his ears. “Therefore, I’m not doing it.”

Yuuri laughs. “If you say so, dear.”

“I do say so.”

“Your powers of gay romance versus the sun. I wonder who’ll win.” There’s a smile in Yuuri’s voice, and it tugs at Viktor’s heart in the best ways.

Viktor hums, leaning his head back to bump his head affectionately into Yuuri’s stomach. “Me, clearly.”

“Of course.” Yuuri laughs, rubs further down his back, and kisses the back of his neck again, too, before spluttering. “Ick, sunscreen _bitter._ ”

“Now, Yuuri,” Viktor tuts. “ _That’s_ not very romantic.”

Yuuri laughs, and then Viktor laughs because Yuuri’s laughing, and it’s the most content he can remember feeling in… a long time. He’s relaxed and happy and safe, and for the next five days, there’s nothing to do but enjoy his time with his husband, and that’s _all._ He gets to spend his time making Yuuri laugh and laugh and laugh, and holding him and kissing him, and being held and being kissed by him, and it’s just—it’s so refreshing, knowing that right now, he doesn’t need to be His Royal Majesty, Viktor Nikiforov. Right now, he’s just Yuuri’s doting husband, Vitya.

“You’re silly,” Yuuri says, leaning over him to look down from above, and Viktor tips his head back to meet his gaze, grinning. “Did you know that? Silly man.”

“You married me,” Viktor points out, and Yuuri leans down and pecks his forehead, upside-down. “So you must have a thing for silly men, hmm?”

“No.” Yuuri shakes his head. “Just one in particular.”

He goes back to massaging the sunscreen into Viktor’s lower back, as if he _didn’t_ just say one of the sweetest and cutest things ever, leaving Viktor to gasp and cry, “ _Yuuri!”_ as behind him, his husband giggles.

When he’s finished, Yuuri kisses the top of his head and announces, “All done! You’re beach-safe!”, giving him a little push. Viktor immediately hops to his feet, swivels around, and pulls him in for a kiss, and as always, Yuuri sinks into his arms, pulling him closer and smiling against his mouth. “Mmm…”

“My Yuuri is so lovely,” Viktor hums, pecking the tip of his nose and then kissing him again, unhurried like the sea breeze, and sweet like his Yuuri. It’s a longer kiss, long enough that he loses himself for a few moments in just the softness of Yuuri’s lips and in the way he opens up and presses Viktor closer, his fingers twining in his hair, in the faintly sweet taste of the mangoes they shared just before coming outside that still lingers in his mouth.

“Mm, Vitya,” Yuuri sighs when he finally breaks the kiss, smiling warmly up at him, and Viktor hums contentedly. “That’s nice.”

“You’re nice,” Viktor immediately answers. “Want me to do your back, too, sunflower?”

“If you’re not _too_ antsy to go play in the water, yes please,” Yuuri teases, his eyes dancing as he boops the tip of Viktor’s nose.

Viktor gives him a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek, complete with an exaggerated _mwah!_ , and grins, his heart so full it’s fit to burst. “Why, sweetheart! You should know by now that I’m _never_ too impatient to make time for you.”

Yuuri laughs again, a sound like sunshine and rainbows and everything good about this world, and Viktor can’t help but lean in to nuzzle his nose. “You are such a cheese!”

“And you’re the cracker,” Viktor answers, letting him go to sit him down on the lounge chair. He reaches for the sunscreen bottle, squirts some into his hands, and rubs them together to warm it up, then starts with Yuuri’s shoulders. “We go well together!”

“Yeah, we do,” Yuuri says, turning his head to glance up at Viktor with a tiny, adoring smile. Half a heartbeat later, he brushes affection across Viktor’s mind like a painter effortlessly creating a landscape of heaven itself, and Viktor leans down to kiss the top of his head.

He works the sunscreen into the smooth skin of Yuuri’s back, pausing to press a kiss to the fading scar left by Sergei Fucking Stepanychev’s sword (but no, he refuses to think about that day because this is their honeymoon and is a time for only good thoughts, and Certain People don’t deserve to even be _thought_ of this week), and Yuuri sighs, content.

God, Viktor loves knowing he can put that soft smile there, that he makes Yuuri feel like he can completely relax, and that Yuuri trusts him with moments like this, moments of simple vulnerability and affection combined. He loves his husband. Has he ever mentioned that? He’s very gay, and he loves his husband. He’ll make it a royal decree when he goes home: _Attention, all peoples of Ruthenia: It must be known all throughout the land that I am gay as fuck and I love my husband to the moon and back._

“Did you already get your chest, dear, or were you too busy wrangling me back into the shade?” he asks as he massages the last of it into Yuuri’s hips, just above the waistline of his swim trunks, and slips his fingers under the elastic just to make sure that even if it falls a bit, Yuuri won’t get burned.

Yuuri laughs. “I haven’t gotten any of myself other than my face yet, no.”

“I’ll do it,” Viktor volunteers, kissing his elbow, which is the nearest bit of skin that’s not slathered in bitter lotion. As he told Yuuri, kissing that isn’t very romantic. “Lie back?”

“Mmm. Okay.”

Yuuri scoots up the lounge chair and reclines, reaching up to fold his arms back under his head, and if his hands weren’t still all icky from sunscreen, Viktor would immediately grab his phone to take a picture—he’s gorgeous, relaxed and smiling up at him like this, and he wants to remember this moment for the rest of his life. As it is, he drops to one knee and leans over to kiss him soundly, relishing the way he can feel the little hitch in Yuuri’s breath, can hear his soft little _oh,_ can feel the softness of his lips. God, he loves kissing his Yuuri.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, withdrawing, and squirts some more sunscreen into his hands.

“Oh my god, speak for yourself,” Yuuri laughs, face going a bit pink, and Viktor grins. “In another life, you could’ve just been a model on the runway!”

Viktor tosses his head to flip his hair, glamorous. “Oh yes, you know it. Look at my fashionable wardrobe, and my designer makeup, and most gorgeous of all, my beautiful husband—”

“Vitya!” Yuuri shrieks, because Viktor is not above tickling him to make him laugh again, and a surprise sunscreen attack is doubly effective. Yuuri wheezes, laughing brightly and without restraint as he flails onto his side to try and get away, and Viktor grins and smooths his touches into slow, soothing strokes to placate him. “Rude!”

Viktor leans down to kiss him again, clumsy this time because neither of them can stop smiling. His cheeks are going to hurt so much by the end of this honeymoon, aren’t they?

“Okay, okay, no more tickling for now,” he promises, rubbing sunscreen along Yuuri’s collarbone. “Promise. I’ll just put the sunscreen on.”

“You better,” Yuuri huffs, trying and failing to look cross, and Viktor winks. He is so, so in love.

He takes special care to make sure he gets the tops of Yuuri’s shoulders, massages the lotion into his arms, taking his time to get each and every patch of skin and to make Yuuri sigh happily in the process, and then starts working his way down his chest. He leans down again, then, to kiss the top surgery scars just below his husband’s pecs, and also to kiss just above his heart, and Yuuri takes one hand from under his head to ruffle Viktor’s hair.

“You’re cute.”

“I must be taking after my husband,” Viktor answers, continuing his ministrations. Unlike the scar on Yuuri’s back or the one on his cheek, the top surgery scars are markers of what’s been done to make Yuuri _happy,_ not to harm him, and that makes Viktor smile when he sees them now—he loves his husband, and knowing that Yuuri is comfortable in his own body, knowing that he doesn’t at all mind Viktor seeing him just as he is—well, he’s known for a long time that Yuuri trusts him unconditionally, but still. There’s something about having Yuuri lying here, relaxed and smiling under his hands, that goes directly to his heart and reminds him that he is so very deeply in love.

Once he finishes, caressing and rubbing his way down Yuuri’s legs, too, Yuuri is almost asleep—his eyes are closed, and he looks so content, smiling softly and dreamily as Viktor strokes his hands over his skin. He’s utterly precious. It’s not fair. How can one man be so _perfect?_

“Yuuuuuri,” he coos, running his hands back up from ankles to knees to hips, to ribs to shoulders to cheeks. Yuuri hums, and Viktor leans down to kiss him again, soft and loving. “Are you falling asleep on me, darling?”

“Not asleep,” Yuuri hums, tipping his chin up to steal a kiss. “Just cozy.”

“Cute,” Viktor coos. Then he pulls back, slides one arm under Yuuri’s back and the other under his thighs, and scoops him up; Yuuri immediately opens his eyes, winding his arms around his neck instinctively for support, and laughs.

“Vitya! I’m awake, I promise! You can put me down!”

“Nonsense!” Viktor shakes his head, marching down the small flight of porch steps and toward the enticing, glimmering sea. “I have to undo all my hard work so I get to do it again sooner.”

“What—” Yuuri starts, but he gets the idea quickly enough as Viktor reaches the waves and keeps walking, still refusing to put him down. “Vitya, oh my god, don’t you _dare—”_ and he playfully smacks Viktor’s shoulder, wriggling in his arms and laughing helplessly. “You bully! You big bully, I was all cozy and—Vit _ya!”_

The last bit of that cry of _Vitya_ is lost in a splash, and Viktor stands hip-deep in the water, laughing gleefully as Yuuri splutters and comes up, soaked and wiping his face. “Awake, my Yuuri?”

“I hope you know, this means _war,_ ” Yuuri warns, and the next thing Viktor knows, he’s ducked back into the water, and then something yanks his knees out from under him and he’s suddenly in a world of waves and salt—

When he comes back to the surface, gasping and pushing the hair from his eyes, Yuuri is triumphantly standing above him, laughing with all the warmth of the sunlight above them and all the love of the sea around them, and, well.

It really can’t be much of a surprise if Viktor _has_ to tackle him after that.

* * *

 

They relax on the sand afterwards, drying off and holding hands as they lie in the sun, and then Yuuri decides to build a sand castle, and then Viktor decides they can make a sand Petersburg Palace, and then they have to try to figure out how to sculpt turrets and towers with only their hands. It’s an entire ordeal.

Still, eventually, they make something that’s a little lumpy and a little misshapen but overall, _probably_ recognizable, and Viktor takes a lot of photos of it because they built it _together_ and he’s _gay,_ and then he grabs Yuuri around the waist and swings him around and around, and they laugh in each other’s arms and try their best to dance together on a floor made of shifting sand.

As the sun begins to sink down, Yuuri takes his hand again and says, “Let’s walk a bit?”, and Viktor is all too happy to let himself be guided down the beach, walking ankle-deep in the shallows with Yuuri’s hand in his and the setting sun painting the water gold, gold, gold.

“You know,” he remarks, swinging their hands between them and admiring the play of the light on the water as it reflects up onto Yuuri’s skin, “romance novels always portray sex on the beach as this passionate, romantic affair, but all we did was build a sand castle and I’m pretty sure there’s sand up my ass already. So what gives?”

Yuuri chokes, splutters, and bursts into laughter.

“I—well, I don’t think there are a lot of things that are particularly _accurate_ in romance novels,” he attempts, but he dissolves into giggles again, stumbling into Viktor’s side and shaking his head as Viktor wraps his arms around him and pats his back. “Do you—do you read a lot of novels about passionate sex on the beach, Vitya?”

“Not a lot,” Viktor says, and playfully pinches his husband’s ass. He’s rewarded first by a squeak of surprise and then the same treatment, which makes him crack a grin again as he adds, “I was just reminded of the few I have read by our setting.”

Yuuri, still laughing helplessly, pats his chest. “I’m sorry if this comes as a disappointment, but I’m definitely not gonna help you experiment with your sand fantasies, dearest.”

Viktor snorts, which is rather undignified, but also this is Yuuri, so dignity is utterly unnecessary. “Oh no… how will I ever live without knowing what it’ll be like to get sand in every single place where sand doesn’t need to go?”

Yuuri reaches up to ruffle his hair, lips twitching. “Well, if you’re _that_ curious, I can get a funnel and—”

“ _Yuuuuuri!”_ Viktor whines, pouting, and Yuuri kisses him playfully. “That’s so _mean!”_

“Guess you’re not that committed to science,” Yuuri says lightly, finally pulling back and tugging at his hand so they can keep walking. “What a shame.”

“I’m never asking you to coauthor a romance novel with me ever again,” Viktor informs him, sniffing as they set off again. He glances over his shoulder and smiles at the sight of their twin series of footprints, half washed away by the waves that rise up to lap at their feet, and then pecks Yuuri’s temple, squeezing his hand.

Yuuri, for his part, smiles up at him and squeezes back, but he also laughs. “Oh, is that what this offer was? You could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, now you’ll never know,” Viktor answers, pressing his lips together daintily.

Yuuri shakes his head. “Oh no. What a shame.”

“It is,” Viktor agrees, shaking his head back. “You ruined your chances at a breakthrough in the literary world. I can’t believe you’d shoot yourself in the foot like that!”

Yuuri pauses suddenly, bending down to grab something from the water, and when he straightens, he’s beaming, offering a small spiral shell. “Here,” he says, and leans in to kiss Viktor’s cheek. “A souvenir, for you.”

Viktor blinks and then beams, sand, asses, and literature all completely forgotten as he takes it, admiring the patterns and the ridges. “Oh! Yuuri, I love it!”

“We could make it into a clip when we get home,” Yuuri suggests, gently bumping their hips together. “You could wear it in your hair, since you’re growing it out again?”

“You’re right,” Viktor agrees, delighted. Right now his hair isn’t quite long enough that he can tie all of it back without most of the front locks falling out, but he could use a lovely honeymoon hairclip to hold back his fringe _and_ remind everyone how in love with his husband he is, at the same time! “My Yuuri always has such wonderful ideas!”

“Ah,” Yuuri says, like the cat with the cream. “So you admit it! I always have wonderful ideas.”

“Well,” Viktor starts to hedge, but Yuuri isn’t having it.

“So back to my stroke of genius with the funnel and the sand—”

_“Yuuuuuuri!”_

Yuuri pats his ass and winks up at him, which ought to be _illegally_ cute when he is making such blatant fun of his poor gay romantic husband. “Just think about it.”

“I shan’t. Not even for a second.”

“Your loss,” Yuuri shrugs, and then abruptly stops walking to tug him into a kiss again. “Hey, Vitya?”

“If this is about sand _again,_ I’m throwing you into the ocean and walking home alone,” Viktor threatens, absolutely not meaning a word of it whatsoever.

“Oh, no. I was just gonna say I love you.” Yuuri smiles, heartwrenchingly genuine and sweet, and Viktor melts, pulling him into another kiss and then peppering his cheeks and his nose and his chin and his forehead and his eyes with as many kisses as he can rain down on him, and Yuuri laughs and hugs him tight.

“Love you too,” Viktor coos, and then pecks the tip of his nose. “Please don’t ruin this moment with sand. I’m begging.”

Yuuri tips his head back and laughs, and Viktor takes the opportunity to kiss his neck and his collarbone, too. “I wasn’t planning on it, don’t worry.”

“Good,” Viktor hums, and kisses him again, and again, and again.

They stay there, wrapped up in each other as the waves lap at their ankles, until the last fading embers of daylight’s glow dissipate and the first of the stars begin to twinkle overhead, and then they hold each other’s hands just as merrily and walk back the way they came.

* * *

 

“This is nice,” Yuuri murmurs, head against Viktor’s shoulder. There are no lights on this island, other than the ones around their villa, and right now they’re all off, and the sky is a canvas painted in pinpricks of distant, silvery light. There are so many more stars visible out here, where the sky is darker than it ever gets in the cities, and it’s breathtaking. “Why didn’t we do this the last two nights?”

“Too sleepy, I guess,” Viktor answers, turning his head to kiss that dark, silky hair. “This is really nice, though. We should do it again tomorrow night.”

“Mmhmm. Definitely.” Yuuri sighs, rolling onto his side to wrap his arm around Viktor’s waist. “There are so many stars out here. You can’t see anywhere near this many from Hasetsu.”

“Not at all,” Viktor agrees, voice a little hushed in awe. “And you can hardly see any at all from Petersburg, unless it’s a very clear night. This is… it’s lovely.”

“Like you,” Yuuri hums, kissing his chest, and Viktor beams as affection shoots through his entire body.

“And you.”

“Mm.” Yuuri hums, trailing his fingers along the low neckline of Viktor’s thin sundress (the perfect outfit for spending time on a warm beach as evening fades into night and then lying on a blanket, watching the stars roll by). “It really just… makes you think, you know? The stars are just… all the way out there, doing their own thing. Doesn’t even matter what happens down here. They’re always up there, just… being the same.”

“I used to stargaze with my mother, from the rooftop of the palace, in winters when the nights were long,” Viktor murmurs, and Yuuri tightens his arm around him, brushing more soft, gentle love into his mind like the slow unfurling of a flower’s petals. “It’s kind of funny to think about it. Same stars.”

“Same stars,” Yuuri echoes, reaching up to slowly thread his fingers through Viktor’s hair and stroke against his scalp. “She told me once that you fell asleep on the roof with her, and she had to carry you back inside because you refused to wake up.”

Viktor laughs softly, feeling a pang at the memory. He misses her still, doesn’t think he’s ever going to stop missing her… but at least it’s easier to carry the weight if he shares the load. And somehow, just knowing that she shared these precious moments with Yuuri, just like he’s doing now, heals his heart a little. “Yeah. I was around seven. I didn’t want to accept that I was going to get too big for her to carry around.”

Yuuri hums against his chest, scrunching his fingers through his hair. “I’m pretty sure if you told her she couldn’t pick you up at any point, she would have thrown you over her shoulder just to prove you wrong.”

That startles a slightly wet laugh out of Viktor, and he pulls Yuuri into a tight hug for a moment. “God, you’re right. She absolutely would have.”

“I can do it for her,” Yuuri suggests, his cheek smushed against Viktor’s shoulder, “but also, you better not be doubting that I can pick you up. Because I _can.”_

“I know you can,” Viktor chuckles, nuzzling into his husband’s arms. Yuuri lets him burrow close until they’ve mirrored each other’s previous positions, and now he’s lying with his head on Yuuri’s shoulder and his arm draped about Yuuri’s waist. “You’ve done it before. I remember.”

“And I’ll do it again,” Yuuri says, petting his hair. “Just to keep you on your toes.”

Viktor laughs, closing his eyes for a moment, just to listen to his husband’s heartbeat. “I adore you.”

“I know,” Yuuri hums. “I love you, too.”

Viktor kisses his chest, his heart full and warm and content. He feels heavy and cozy and safe, lying here tangled up with Yuuri, and the stars above them are constant and comforting—just a few years ago, those same stars shone down on his mother as she carried him back to bed, and now here he is, admiring them with his husband.

“Yuuri?”

“Yeah?”

Viktor hums, searching for words for a moment, and finally settles on, “I’m glad we’re married.”

Yuuri rolls over to hug him bodily, with both arms and legs, and kisses the top of his head. “Me too. Nowhere in the entire world could I find a better husband than you.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor sighs, clinging back. He feels safe and warm and loved and good, and he just… he loves his Yuuri a lot. He’s wonderful and good and kind and soft and wonderful. Did he already use wonderful? Oh well. It’s the truth.

He closes his eyes, soothed by the beat of Yuuri’s heart and the soughing of the waves, and lets himself drift. He’s vaguely aware of Yuuri kissing his hair again at some point, and then Yuuri murmuring something that he doesn’t quite catch, and then a little while after that Yuuri gently touching his mind with another little burst of affection, and he smiles a little, sighing in contentment.

And then, after a while of cozy comfort and everything being perfect, suddenly the world is topsy-turvy and he wakes up fully, spluttering because there’s a blanket in his mouth and his arms are pinned to his sides and he’s not on the ground but—

“Mmnpgh!”

“Oh,” Yuuri’s voice says, muffled, and then he’s set down on something and the cocoon of darkness around him peels away a bit, and he realizes what’s happened: he fell asleep, and Yuuri, an absolute _heathen,_ rolled him up in the blanket to take him inside.

_“Yuuri,_ ” he complains, frowning.

Yuuri gives him a sunny, entirely-too-innocent smile. “Yes?”

Viktor narrows his eyes at him and wriggles, arms still pinned even though his head is free. “This is cruel. Why would you do this?”

“It’s not cruel, you were just a sushi roll! I wanted to make sure that absolutely no sand got on my poor, sweet, sleeping husband!” Yuuri says, nodding to emphasize his point. “I was being considerate.”

“By _smothering_ your poor, sweet, sleeping husband?” Viktor protests.

Yuuri leans in and kisses him, his eyes dancing playfully. “Told you I’m gonna keep you on your toes.”

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me,” Viktor sighs melodramatically, wriggling again, and Yuuri finally takes pity on him and unwraps the blanket. Viktor dusts off his dress and pouts again, and Yuuri chuckles warmly, wrapping his arm around his waist and drawing him in for a gentle kiss. “And now you want to bribe me into forgiving this offense?”

“Mm,” Yuuri hums, kissing him again. “Something like that.”

“I am a very moral sushi king and not susceptible to bribes,” Viktor warns, letting his eyes flutter closed as Yuuri slips a hand into the low V-neck of his dress and caresses his bare skin, soothing and gentle. “Mm…”

“I can be very persuasive,” Yuuri promises, and nuzzles his cheek, smiling. “Won’t you at least hear me out, my sushi king?”

“I _suppose_ I can,” Viktor breathes, sliding his arms around Yuuri’s waist too. “But I hope you know it has to be a very good bribe to be worth my time.”

Yuuri laughs, soft and breathy against his ear, and presses a warm kiss to his jaw. “I think I can manage that.”

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Epilogue..._

* * *

 

“I don’t wanna leave,” Viktor sighs, staring balefully at the sky-carriage in the late-afternoon light. It’s enchanted to take off when they both get back on board. He doesn’t _want_ to get back on board. Even if going back to Ruthenia _does_ mean getting out of direct sunlight for a while.

“There’s more aloe if we go back home,” Yuuri wheedles.

“I’m not sunburned,” Viktor huffs. (It’s a complete lie. He spent the morning sitting in a tub full of cool water and pouting. Yuuri laughed at him, but at least he also gave him lots of kisses to make up for it.)

“Of course not,” Yuuri soothes, petting his hair placatingly. “You’re just completing your metamorphosis into a lobster.”

Viktor gives him a withering look. “Don’t bully me.”

Yuuri laughs and pecks his lips. “I would never, my Vitya.”

“Right.”

“All I do is tell the truth,” Yuuri adds, grinning, but he takes Viktor’s hand and guides him toward the entry ramp. “Come on, honey. The sooner we get back, the sooner we can start planning our next honeymoon.”

That’s… very persuasive, actually, and Viktor gives in, letting himself be pulled along. Going back to responsibilities isn’t enticing, but at least he has his best friend, the love of his life, his husband, right here with him, no matter what. And they’ll figure out something else to look forward to! “Where should we go next time?”

“Hmmm. I don’t know!” Yuuri laughs as they settle down on the couches, and the liftoff spells begin to run, making the wind pick up outside. “We can look up options on the way home. Sound good?”

“If I’m with you?” Viktor croons. “ _Everything_ sounds perfect.”

And Yuuri, dear, sweet Yuuri, pulls him into another kiss, and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, if anyone missed that, I Have Decided that trfl yuuri is trans and this is trfl canon B)


	6. in your heart's warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and his husband enjoy a cozy night in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SLIDES IN WITH AN ATTEMPT AT SOME TENDER SEX,,, dedicated to my friend sophie who i love dearly ♥ pls enjoy some dick phi
> 
> warnings: explicit sex scene, 18+, babies this is not for you, and also some internalized acephobia!!

Yuuri smiles down at Makkachin, dozing off against his side.

“Vitya’s coming,” he murmurs, stroking Makkachin’s fluffy ears. “He’s almost here, Makka!” He can feel Viktor’s presence growing closer—he seems to be in a good mood, too, which means his dinner with the Vinogradovs must have gone well. Good.

Sure enough, within a few seconds, the door to their quarters opens and closes with a heavy _thud,_ and just as Yuuri looks up, his husband breezes into the sitting area singing,“Yuuuuriiii!”

Yuuri sticks a bookmark in and closes his book, rubbing Makkachin’s head and holding out his other hand. “Hi, you.”

Viktor takes his hand, smiling, and bends down to kiss his knuckles. “Hi. How’s the most wonderful husband in the world?”

“I think he’s in a good mood,” Yuuri answers, tilting his head to one side, “but I’d ask him to be sure. How are you?”

 _“Yuuri!”_ Viktor gasps, delighted, and Yuuri grins and squeezes his hand.

Viktor plops down on the couch next to him, and Yuuri immediately snuggles into his side, tucking himself under his arm. Viktor gives him a quick squeeze and leans into him with a sigh, closing his eyes, and Yuuri watches him for a moment, smiling to himself. “Dinner went well?”

Viktor nods, tipping his head back to rest against the cushions. “Mm. It did. Mila and Lady Irina have been getting along well, and that’s made the Duke feel secure enough to be amenable to our proposal.”

“Good,” Yuuri murmurs. The way Viktor is sitting there, framed in the last of the sun’s light from the open curtains, his hair is almost red in the golden-orange glow, spilling around his face. It’s getting longer, somewhere around the tops of his shoulders, and he’s very attractive, if Yuuri does say so himself. A little bit of desire sinks into his core, manifesting itself in the urge to cover Viktor’s cheeks with kisses and trail them down the curve of his neck, too, to his broad shoulders and more, and Yuuri leans in to press his lips to his husband’s jaw, lingering and soft.

“My Yuuuuri,” Viktor hums, wrapping his other arm around Yuuri’s shoulder and tugging him over to lie across his lap, cradled against his chest. “I haven’t gotten to hold you since this morning. Such a travesty! I must right it at once.”

It’s romantic, but smushed against the rough beadwork on Viktor’s jacket, Yuuri wrinkles his nose. He sits up, pulling away and waving a hand in a shooing motion. “Yeah, but first you have to get into comfy clothes. Get up, go get changed so I can actually cuddle you without scratching my face off!”

“Ah,” Viktor sighs, unfairly gorgeous with merriment twinkling in his eyes. “Rejected by my true love…”

Yuuri laughs and swats his shoulder playfully, waking Makkachin from his doze with the movement. “Rejected, my ass! Go change and get back here! Sorry, Makka. Your papa is a ridiculous man, isn’t he?”

Makkachin yawns deeply.

“He says I’m right,” Viktor says, leaning over Yuuri to scratch under Makkachin’s chin. “Isn’t that right, my darling? Oh yes, little fluffykins, yes? Hmmmm? Such soft ears, the softest, oh how soft! Who’s the softest boy? It’s you, Makka, it’s you!”

 _Oh,_ Yuuri thinks, unable to stop smiling as Viktor leans across him to coo over Makkachin. _Oh, I am so, so in love with him._

Makkachin makes a deep, contented noise from somewhere in his chest and closes his eyes again as Viktor caresses his head. Viktor keeps petting him for a few more seconds, until Yuuri nudges him with his elbow and complains, “Goooo, I wanna cuddle,” and then he turns the full force of his big blue eyes and oh-so-kissable pout on him.

“You could cuddle with me right now if you _really_ want to,” he challenges. “Don’t be a quitter, Yuuuuri.”

Yuuri narrows his eyes. If Viktor wants to play a dangerous game, fine. “Either you go get changed into something more friendly to my face, or I take this thing off you right here and dump it on the floor.”

He can both see and feel Viktor’s indecision—he feels his mind waver, watches him bite his lip, and notes with fondness the familiar tilt to his head as he considers his options: on the one hand, he doesn’t want his nice suit on the floor, but on the other, he never passes up an opportunity to be a ridiculous flirt, and taking Yuuri up on an offer to strip him would certainly give him many of those. Good! This was supposed to be a dilemma. Let him squirm.

“My Yuuuuri…” Viktor slides his hand along Yuuri’s jaw and tips his face up. He leans in close enough that their noses brush, flutters his eyelashes, and drops his voice to a low, sultry purr again as he continues, “Couldn’t I persuade you to at least hang it on the back of a chair?”

“No,” Yuuri murmurs, kissing him. It’s slow and soft and relaxed, and mmm, feels wonderful, like kissing Viktor always does, and when it’s over he can’t hide a smile. “I gave you your options. Pick one. I’m not changing them.”

“Hmmm…” Viktor leans in, kisses him again, and lingers, his presence almost overwhelming in the best way as Yuuri’s arms curve around his neck and press him closer. His mouth is soft and hot and god, Yuuri loves kissing him, and oh… he pulls back, slowly, and strokes Yuuri’s cheek. “Well, I have plenty of other suits. Do your worst, my love.”

Yuuri laughs and lets go, sitting back to start on the buttons of his jacket. “Suit yourself.”

Viktor pauses. “Was that a pun?”

Yuuri shrugs, working from his collar down his chest. “Possibly.”

“If it was,” Viktor remarks, “and you’re making puns while trying to undress your husband, I think that’s a bit unsuited to the occasion.”

Yuuri laughs, delighted, and slips a finger into the jacket to poke his stomach. “God, you really are the perfect man.”

Viktor squeaks and jumps. “Yuuri! Don’t tickle!”

Yuuri grins and pecks his cheek, undoes the last button, and pushes the jacket from his shoulders. Viktor obediently sits forward so he can get it off easily, and then as promised, Yuuri tosses it over the back of the couch so it can land in an unceremonious heap on the rug. Makkachin perks up, looking around, and when the jacket doesn’t return, he hops down from the couch and trots around to go find it.

“Makkachin!” Viktor calls, clapping a hand to his forehead in dismay. “Makka, don’t eat that!”

Yuuri peers over the back of the couch. “It’s fine. He’s just lying on it.”

“Oh.” Viktor relaxes. “He can have it as a bed, then. That’s fine. Am I cuddle-able yet, Yuuri?”

Yuuri frowns and pokes his belt buckle, pinches the stiff material of his embroidered shirt, and shakes his head. “Not at all.”

“Pity,” Viktor hums. “Guess you have to keep going.”

Yuuri tosses the shirt over the back of the couch next, then the belt (carefully, so it doesn’t hit Makkachin, who is happily snoring away), and hums his approval. He’s stripped away the layers of Viktor-the-king, and now he’s left with Viktor-the-human, Vitya-his-husband, someone who’s relaxed and at ease and comfortable with him.

Satisfied, he finally settles himself in between Viktor’s legs and leans against his bare chest. “There,” he says, closing his eyes in contentment. “Perfect.”

Viktor wraps his arms around him and kisses his forehead, thinking _love love love_ loudly enough that Yuuri hears it clear as day. “Mm. Good. I like holding my Yuuri. I was about to die of husband deprivation, you know. You’ve saved me.”

“Cute,” Yuuri smiles, hugging him close. “Now, we cuddle a lot.”

“Mmm.” Viktor sighs in bliss, stroking his back, and kisses his forehead again. “Tell me about your day, my love. How did it go with the Ryabovas?”

“It was alright,” Yuuri says, and tells him all about their luncheon, and his dance practice afterward, and what he read in the library and what he discussed at dinner with Yura. They sit there all tangled up in each other for minutes that drag on into an hour or maybe more, watching the sun retreat and the stars come out. A companionable silence falls for a while, filled a little bit by Viktor’s contented little noises as Yuuri kisses from his jaw down his neck, and then Yuuri hugs him and asks about his day, too.

Eventually, it’s late enough that Yuuri sets his abandoned book on a side table, and they move from the sitting room to the bedroom. Viktor looks ruefully at his suit, which Makkachin has claimed as a bed for the night, and Yuuri stifles a laugh and takes his hand, tugging him to their bedroom.

“Sleepy yet?” he asks, settling onto the edge of the bed.

“Not quite.” Viktor finally goes to the closet, puts away his pants, and returns in a silken robe, ruffling Yuuri’s hair as he sits next to him. “You?”

“No.” Yuuri lays his head on his shoulder, nudging affection into his mind. “We could watch a movie if you want?”

Viktor lays his cheek against his hair. “Mm, sounds good. Your pick.”

“Why do you always make _me_ do the choosing,” Yuuri mutters, getting up to grab his computer and hook it to the television on the wall opposite the bed. Viktor laughs behind him, merry and warm.

“Because you said I have bad taste last time, sweetling.”

“You _do,_ ” Yuuri huffs. “That wasn’t at all scary, it was just _embarrassing._ For the monster _._ ”

“Well, I thought it was scary,” Viktor says, lounging against the pillows. “You had to hold me through the scariest parts. And the entire thing was terrifying.” He sounds so pleased with himself that Yuuri pauses in his scrolling through movies to give him a fondly exasperated look.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll find you a completely not-scary horror movie. I’m _sure_ you’re going to call it scary, too.”

“If I’m ever too afraid, I can just hide in your arms again, my valiant beloved,” Viktor proclaims, casting a dramatic hand to his forehead and collapsing to the mattress. “My hero! My savior! My champion!”

“What if I don’t let you?”

Viktor looks wounded. “You wouldn’t.”

Yuuri grins. “Vitya, dear, you know I thrive on spite.”

“Yuuuuri!” Viktor whines. “You wouldn’t make me go wake up poor Makkachin just to get a hug, would you? He’s _sleeping!”_

Yuuri pretends to consider it for a moment. “Oh, fine,” he relents. “I guess I’ll have to hold you. For Makkachin’s sake.”

“At least you have your priorities straight,” Viktor sniffs delicately.

Yuuri snorts. “Darling, there’s absolutely _nothing_ straight about me holding you.”

A peal of Viktor’s bright laughter rings out like so many silver bells, and Yuuri grins, satisfied.

Soon enough, they’re curled up together, sitting atop the blankets and cuddling close. Viktor’s head is tucked snugly into Yuuri’s shoulder, with Yuuri’s fingers loosely twined in his hair, and their legs are a cozy tangle. The movie is… less than convincing, and even Viktor isn’t frightened by its special effects. In fact, soon they’re leaning against each other and laughing out loud as they try to guess which character the extremely fake-looking monster is going to kill next.

“Oh,” Yuuri mutters, wrinkling his nose. “Is this a romance scene? I don’t even remember these two’s names—”

“Meredith and Seraphina,” Viktor supplies, tracing an idle pattern on Yuuri’s chest. “Aren’t you paying attention, sunflower?”

“How am I supposed to pay attention to a bad movie when the most beautiful man alive is lying on top of me?” Yuuri scrunches his fingers through his hair and presses a kiss to the part in his hair. “Hey, Vitya, I have an idea.”

“Mm?” He can hear Viktor’s smile in the lilt of his voice. “What’s that?”

“Instead of watching two really boring characters make out on a screen, you make out with me in real life,” Yuuri suggests, playing with his hair some more. He’s content and cozy enough right now that all he really wants to do is kiss Viktor, kiss him and shower him in affection and adoration because he’s wonderful and charming and brilliant and sweet and perfect.

“Oh?” Viktor rolls onto his side and props himself up on one elbow, eyes sparkling. “I like this idea. My Yuuri is so smart!”

Yuuri leans in and kisses him, wrapping his arms about his shoulders and pressing himself to him. It’s a languid, slow kiss, affectionate and long, and when Viktor finally breaks it, he strokes his thumb over Yuuri’s lower lip. Yuuri kisses it, and Viktor breaks into an adoring smile.

“Yuuri,” he breathes, caressing Yuuri’s lip again. “My starling.”

“You’re much better than me at pet names,” Yuuri murmurs back, kissing him again. It’s a little harder this time, more impassioned, and by the time he withdraws again, he’s breathing hard. Viktor pulls him back in almost immediately, smiling against his mouth, and nibbles at his lower lip until Yuuri melts in his arms.

“My love, my sunshine, my heart,” Viktor answers, trailing kisses along his jaw. “My Yuuri.”

“Yours,” Yuuri sighs, tipping his head back to let Viktor kiss down his neck. Viktor does, slow and tender, and the touch of his warm breath on Yuuri’s skin is enough to make him shiver. “Mm, Vitya…”

Viktor kisses his collarbone and lingers for several seconds, pressing his cheek against the skin revealed by the neckline of Yuuri’s loose sleep shirt, and then he nuzzles Yuuri’s neck and brushes his lips against his jaw. “You’re smiling…”

“It’s ‘cuz I love you,” Yuuri mumbles, eyes closed in pleasure. “Kiss me more?”

“Gladly.” Viktor trails his kisses back to Yuuri’s lips and kisses him again, warm and passionate and loving and _good,_ and Yuuri lets out a breathy sound of contentment (not quite a moan, but more than a sigh) against his mouth. Viktor takes the opportunity to suck at Yuuri’s lower lip and swipe his tongue over it, and Yuuri’s fingers twine into his hair to press him closer.

Abruptly, Yuuri pulls away and clambers over him, movie completely forgotten as he cups Viktor’s cheeks and kisses him again, straddling his hips and leaning down. Viktor’s hair splays out against the pillows, his arms wrapping around Yuuri’s waist immediately, and Yuuri kisses him deeply.

“Yuuri,” Viktor breathes, touching his cheek with adoration shining in his eyes and in his mind. “C’mere, I want—mmmm…”

Yuuri smiles against his mouth as he hums in contentment, stroking his thumb over his Vitya’s cheekbone and kissing him until they’re both flushed and utterly breathless. Then he kisses him some more, and some more, and more after that, until his elbows start to hurt from propping up the majority of his weight.

“One second, honey,” Viktor says, giving him a quick peck and starting to wriggle out from under him. Yuuri sits back to give him room, and Viktor sits up, leaning back against the pillows propped against the headboard, and spreads his legs to make room for Yuuri in between. Then he holds out his arms, and Yuuri eagerly scoots over and hugs him again. “Better?”

“Much.” Yuuri kisses his cheek, his jaw, the shell of his ear, and his earlobe, and he feels more than hears the breath catch in Viktor’s throat. It makes him smile to himself, pleased with the effect he has on his husband, as he continues down his neck to his shoulders, pushing aside the collar of the robe as he does. “You’re so pretty, Vitya…”

“Not as pretty as you,” Viktor sighs, rubbing his back. “My Yuuri is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“You mean you’ve never looked in the mirror before?” Yuuri starts working his way back up Viktor’s neck so he can kiss down the other side. “Surprising.”

“I have, and I’ve seen my Yuuri there sometimes, in the mornings, getting ready with me,” Viktor breathes, eyes closed and smiling wide. “The most beautiful man in the world—oh,” and he breaks off with a gasp as Yuuri mouths at his ear again. “Yuuri…”

Yuuri strokes his cheek and kisses him. “Yes?”

“I love you.” Viktor squeezes him, tight, and Yuuri melts against him for a few seconds. On the TV, Meredith falls into a trap door, screaming. Neither of them notices.

Viktor tips Yuuri’s chin up and kisses him hard, and Yuuri presses closer to him and kisses back  ardently. He loves kissing his Vitya, loves feeling the heat of his skin and the firmness of his body and the intensity of his love, loves Viktor with everything he has. The soft, silver hair parts under his fingers as he cradles the back of Viktor’s head to press him closer, and Viktor hums his approval into the kiss.

When they finally, finally break apart again, breathing hard, Viktor kisses his nose and Yuuri lays against him again, eyes closed. It’s only then that he realizes there’s something hard pressing into his thigh and definitely it’s not the TV remote, and—oh.

He looks down, caught by surprise, and Viktor lets out a little breath. “Just my body reacting,” he reminds him, tipping Yuuri’s chin up. “We don’t go any further than you want to, okay?”

“I know,” Yuuri assures, snuggling into his chest.

They’ve had sex before—four times before, to be precise—and it doesn’t intimidate him, now. It’s actually pretty fun? And it _has_ been a while since he’s been in the mood to, and he kind of _does_ want to keep going all the way tonight. This is nice, and they have tomorrow morning to themselves, and… well, he’s glad he’s in the mood. He’d been starting to wonder if it would ever find him again.

“Wanna stop?” Viktor asks. His hand strokes up and down Yuuri’s spine, reassuring and gentle. Yuuri loves him.

“Um, actually…” Yuuri ducks his head a little, then peeps up. “Can we. Keep going?”

“We certainly can,” Viktor answers, beaming and pecking his forehead. “How far do you want to keep going?”

“Uh… all the way…?” Yuuri rubs the back of his neck, a little shy. They’ve done it before, but not recently, and, well, he’s kind of springing this on Viktor out of nowhere, and… “I mean, if you want—I’m kind of, um—I’d be happy with it if you wanted us to? But we don’t have to—”

Viktor touches his lips to stop the nervous rambling. “I would be delighted to make love to you tonight, darling,” he purrs, kissing Yuuri’s cheek. It’s innocent enough, but something about his voice sends warmth shooting down Yuuri’s spine to pool between his legs. “But at any point if you decide you don’t want to continue—”

“I’ll tell you,” Yuuri promises. That much is easy. Viktor is an angel, and Yuuri knows beyond a doubt that he can trust him.

Viktor cups his cheek tenderly, and Yuuri leans into his touch. “Alright,” he murmurs, and pulls him into another fervent kiss.

One kiss leads to another, and another, and another and another and another, until Yuuri’s straddling his lap and kissing him until he _moans._ He pauses for a second, trying to catch his breath as he savors the sound of that moan, and then he presses his forehead to Viktor’s. With one finger, he traces down the collar of the robe until his finger brushes across his husband’s sternum, and then he stops, looking down at those flushed cheeks and warm blue eyes.

“May I?”

“I’m yours,” Viktor murmurs, smiling, and as Yuuri slips his hand under the robe to push it aside, down Viktor’s shoulder, Viktor very slowly, very deliberately rocks his hips, rubbing his hard length to the growing wetness between Yuuri’s legs.

Yuuri gasps.

“Alright?” Viktor reaches up to stroke his hair back from his face, gentle concern mingling with the love in his mind.

“Good,” Yuuri answers breathlessly. His thin, silky pajamas aren’t going to last very long, and the idea of having a stain from—from _this_ seep through his underwear into them is embarrassing, so he pulls back for a moment to hook his thumbs under the waistband and shimmy out of them.

“Wow,” Viktor hums, whistling shamelessly. “Look at those thighs! Have I ever told you I’m gay?”

“Vitya,” Yuuri laughs as heat rushes to his face. “You too, I can’t be the only one undressing…”

Viktor responds by sitting forward for a moment, letting the robe fall all the way down his arms, and then pulling his hands from the sleeves so that all that’s left is the lower half wrapped around his legs. Yuuri crawls into his lap again, breath hitching in his throat at the feeling of Viktor’s soft robe against his now bare thighs, and even more at the touch of Viktor’s hardness, pressed against him _just so._

“Mmmm…”

Fingers brush the nape of his neck and slide into his hair as Viktor pulls him into another steamy kiss. “Lovely Yuuri…”

They spend several minutes like that, exchanging simmering kisses as they slowly rock their hips against each other, and despite himself, Yuuri finds himself gasping and letting out involuntary little breathless _sounds,_ as Viktor rubs against him through the robe and the underwear. The repetitive, slow motion provides delicious friction that makes the heat pulsing between his legs throb.

Eventually, it grows to be too much, and he wriggles desperately in Viktor’s arms. It’s easiest to let Viktor take the lead, most of the time, because he’s more confident in what he’s doing, though Yuuri likes to think that by now he’s gotten the hang of it too. So he whines and squeezes at Viktor’s shoulders, a little impatient and drowning in sensation. “Please—can you, can… can we…”

“More?” Viktor asks, stroking his cheek. It helps Yuuri ground himself again, and he nods fervently.

“Please? I—I want… I want you?”

Viktor kisses the corner of his mouth and then playfully snaps the waistband of his boxers against his hip. “Let me get these off, then, dove.”

Yuuri does, kneeling to let Viktor tug them down his thighs and then sitting in his lap and lifting his feet so Viktor can pull them off the rest of the way. Viktor tosses them in the same direction as the pajama pants, and Yuuri, suddenly self-conscious and fully naked, takes off his glasses and puts them on the nightstand. “You too?”

“Of course,” Viktor murmurs, and Yuuri reaches for the robe. Viktor lifts his hips helpfully, and Yuuri pulls it out from under him, discarding it with the rest of their clothes.

It’s really not fair, how gorgeous Viktor is. He’s strong and toned, with well-defined muscles and beautiful, soft skin, and right now a flush of arousal goes from his cheeks all the way down his chest. He looks languid and beautiful and happy and hot as _hell,_ and Yuuri can’t help but kiss him again, and again, and again.

“We can slow down if you want,” Viktor whispers between kisses, and Yuuri hesitates briefly. Viktor caresses his cheek and smiles at him, reassuring and gentle. “We have all night, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” Yuuri whispers back.

He loses track of time swiftly, caught up in nothing but Viktor’s hands and his body and his mouth as they hold each other like before, but this time with nothing between their skin, just kissing Viktor over and over and over. But the longer he spends on kisses, the more desperate the desire in his core grows, until he whines and reaches a hand between his own legs just to relieve a bit of it.

He doesn’t really _like_ what’s between his legs that much. His dick is a lot smaller than he’d like—sometimes he feels like it still looks like it did when he called it a clit, though he knows logically that it’s grown—and it’s _wet_ down there, ridiculously so, and… just… not really right. But he’s made his peace with that, as best as he can, and Viktor is always quick to reassure him when he has a worse time than usual, and right now, all he can really focus on is that it feels _good_ when he rubs his dick.

“Mmm, Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs into his mouth. “Let me.”

“Not yet,” Yuuri says, reluctantly withdrawing his hand. He wants… he wants to touch Viktor, first, because he wants to make his husband feel good, wants to hear all the noises he makes when he gets overwhelmed by sensation, and…

He starts kissing his way down Viktor’s chest, this time not stopping at his sternum but continuing, until he’s over his abs and Viktor twitches away and gasps. “Yuuri—!”

“That tickles?” Yuuri asks, blinking, and Viktor hides his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. “I’m trying to seduce you and you sabotage me by being _ticklish?”_

“I’m seduced, I’m seduced!” Viktor cries, throwing up his hands. “Please be gentle with me and my poor ticklish stomach!”

Yuuri laughs and blows a raspberry just above his belly button, just to hear him shriek with laughter, and keeps moving down. He leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses from Viktor’s ribs over his stomach, lower, lower, as Viktor gasps his name, his hips bucking as Yuuri presses a light kiss to his tip.

“Yuuri!” Viktor cries out, pressing a hand to his face in ecstasy. His other finds Yuuri’s hair, strokes it encouragingly as Yuuri leans his head forward to gently lick at his length, a slow stripe along the underside of his cock.

Viktor lets out his longest, loudest moan yet as Yuuri takes him into his mouth, pressing the side of his face into the pillows. Yuuri bobs his head up and down a few times, still keeping his pace slow, and his hands hold Viktor’s hips still, rubbing little circles to soothe him as he gasps, his breaths coming short and fast.

“Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri, oh my god…”

Yuuri swirls his tongue along his slit, and Viktor lets out another soft cry. Yuuri stops sucking and gives his cock a few kisses, lapping gently at him before he presses his mouth to the insides of his thighs and sucks there, hard enough to leave a mark. Viktor lets out another low little moan, and Yuuri grins to himself before kissing his cock again. His own arousal throbs almost painfully between his legs, but that’s okay. Right now is about Viktor.

He mouths gently at Viktor’s balls, one hand stroking along his cock, and Viktor’s fingers in his hair scrunch almost involuntarily as his hips jerk in response. “Fuck, Yuuri!”

“We’re getting there,” Yuuri says wryly, then licks his way up from Viktor’s balls to the tip of his cock again. “Patience, Vitya…”

Viktor huffs out a laugh above him, ruffles his hair, and cries out again as Yuuri takes his head into his mouth and runs his tongue along his slit again.

“I could make you come like this,” he murmurs into Viktor’s thigh, mouthing at the smooth skin in the crook between his thigh and balls. “Do you want that?”

“No,” Viktor says, breathing hard. “No, not yet—come here, sunflower, please? Let me touch you, too…”

“Okay,” Yuuri says, suddenly a little shy again, but he swallows it and scoots back into Viktor’s arms. Why is he shy? Viktor isn’t going to laugh at him or anything. Maybe he just… needs… “Can you, um, can you hold me for a second, before we… do anything else?”

“I would love to,” Viktor murmurs, hugging him close. Yuuri melts into the familiarity of his embrace, grounds himself with his husband’s touch, and feels the shyness start to drain away. “It’s just me, darling,” Viktor adds, and Yuuri sags against him in sudden relief.

It’s just him.

It’s just them.

Just Yuuri and his Vitya, just Vitya and his Yuuri. Best friends, lovers, husbands. It’s just them.

The relief makes his lack of apprehension much more apparent, and the lack of apprehension makes him suddenly, intensely aware of the burning need between his legs, and he lets out a shaky breath, kissing Viktor tenderly. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Viktor kisses his brow. “You’re okay, my Yuuri?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri promises, smiling reassuringly. “Was a little overwhelmed for a second. But I’m good now. What did… how do you want me…?”

Viktor kisses him again, fond and sweet, and strokes his fingers down his spine. “Turn around?”

Yuuri scoots around, and Viktor’s arm snakes around his waist, pulling him back against his chest. Yuuri lets out a soft breath and leans into him, feeling safe and secure and loved.

“Spread your legs a little more,” Viktor instructs, lips brushing his ear. “You can lay them on top of mine if you want.”

Yuuri does, reaching back up to touch his husband’s cheek for a second, and Viktor squeezes him affectionately. “Okay.”

“Now just lie back and let me take care of you,” Viktor murmurs, his other hand curving over Yuuri’s hip and sliding down between his legs.

The second Viktor’s fingers touch his throbbing dick, Yuuri lets out a sharp gasp as sensation explodes through him, legs spasming as Viktor’s firm touch starts to rub it slowly, moving in deliberate circles. “Vitya, oh…”

“Good?” Viktor asks, smiling against his cheek. Yuuri turns his head toward him, and Viktor kisses the tip of his nose. “Yuuuuri, is that good?”

Yuuri moans as he keeps stroking. “Y-yes…”

“Good,” Viktor hums. He increases the pace of his circles, and Yuuri lets out a soft wail as his world shrinks to just the two of them, just them and this bed, just the things Viktor’s fingers are doing between his legs, and the golden sparks that they’re sending all throughout his body.

When Viktor stops rubbing, Yuuri lets out an involuntary whine and opens his eyes, confused, but Viktor just chuckles and kisses his nose again, hand moving a little further down. One long, elegant finger traces his entrance, and Yuuri gasps; when it gently presses inside, he _moans_ , feeling both deliciously full and not full enough. His now-untouched dick pulses, reminding him starkly of how deprived it feels. “Vitya, more, please?”

“Patience, my love,” Viktor answers, echoing him, and Yuuri grumbles wordlessly but cuts himself off with a gasp as that finger pumps out and back in, and in and out and in and out. “I don’t want to hurt you. Slowly does it…”

Still, soon Viktor adds a second finger, and then Yuuri’s well and truly gone as the heel of his hand brushes against his dick. “Ohhh my god, that feels so good…”

“I’m glad,” Viktor croons, and kisses him. Then he crooks his fingers, and Yuuri may well have exploded for a moment because Viktor just found his g-spot and ohhhhh _fuck_ that’s good, and his legs twitch again and he could die happy right now because he can feel how much Viktor loves him both physically and empathically and he’s melting and Viktor’s fingers are taking him apart from the inside and _oh_ his hand touches his dick again and Yuuri melts again, crying out, and oh, it’s _good._

Viktor keeps going, in and out, in and out, for several minutes, until Yuuri’s hands curl into fists in the sheets. “Vitya,” he gasps, eyes squeezed shut as he presses his head back into Viktor’s shoulder, overwhelmed. “Vitya Vitya Vitya—”

“You’re so beautiful,” Viktor murmurs, crooking his fingers just so, and Yuuri cries out as they brush against his g-spot again, making his legs spasm as pleasure jolts through his body. “Look at you, my love.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Yuuri stammers out. His voice is breathy and shaky and _ohhhh_ that feels so fucking _good_ and—oh, _fuck._ “Vitya, Vitya, oh my god, please please please!”

“Please what, darling?” Viktor pulls his fingers out, caresses the inside of Yuuri’s thigh, and kisses his neck. Yuuri whines immediately, craving his touch again. “Is it too much?”

“No!” Yuuri grabs his hand, pushes it against himself, and grinds down against it, moaning breathlessly as he finally finally finally gets some relief against his throbbing dick. “Keep going, _please._ ”

“Oh,” Viktor murmurs, nipping at his earlobe. “Okay. Okay. You’re so lovely,” and he starts to move again, letting both of his hands wander down between Yuuri’s legs. Two fingers slip back inside him, while his other hand starts to rub at Yuuri’s dick, slow and gentle, and Yuuri can’t help but moan desperately. It feels so _good._

“ _Vitya_ … Mmm… Vitya Vitya Vitya oh my god yes please, please, oh, yes—”

“Do you want to come like this?” Viktor asks, voice low and husky in Yuuri’s ear as he presses his lips to the pulse point just below it, and Yuuri moans again because it’s all just so much. His entire world is just Vitya and nothing else—the chin on his shoulder, the hands working magic between his thighs, the hard cock pressing into his back, the firm chest he’s leaning back into. He’s hot and flushed and all he can focus on is his husband and the things his hands are doing between his legs; everything smells like sex and sweat, mixed with a hint of Viktor’s cologne.

Fuck, Viktor asked him a question, what was it, what was— _oh_ —what was it, what was the answer, oh, oh—

“Wait,” he gasps, and immediately Viktor stops, pulls his fingers out again, strokes Yuuri’s thighs and croons sweet nothings that Yuuri’s mind doesn’t quite parse. Yuuri takes a moment, chest heaving, to try and catch his breath.

“Are you okay?” Viktor asks, and his hands leave Yuuri’s thighs to wrap around his chest in a tight hug. “Did I hurt you? What happened, sunflower?”

“You’re really good at this,” Yuuri manages, melting into his chest and tipping his head back to lay against Viktor’s shoulder again. Viktor kisses his cheek far more sweetly than should be allowed right now. “Fuck. Everything’s fine, uh, better than fine? _Really_ good at this, like, oh my god. I just, um, I—I wanna come with—with you inside?”

“Oh,” Viktor murmurs, and then he kisses Yuuri’s neck and _sucks_. Not so hard that it’ll leave a mark, but hard enough that Yuuri lets out a strangled gasp as the heat between his legs pulses again, reminding him bluntly that less than thirty seconds ago, Viktor’s fingers were pumping in and out of him and that he wants _more._ “Mmmm. My Yuuri, god you’re gorgeous—yes. Yes, that sounds wonderful.”

“Good,” Yuuri sighs, lifting his head. He turns in Viktor’s arms, then, cupping his husband’s cheeks and kissing him hard. He can taste the salt on his skin, mixed with a hint of sweetness from his lip balm, and _god_ his lips are so soft and pliant and kissing him feels amazing—his hands curve into Viktor’s hair, clutching at him, and Yuuri kisses him until he moans. Yuuri _loves_ making him moan, especially moans like this one (low, unintentional, passionate) that are muffled by his mouth on Viktor’s. “Mmm, I love you.”

“Love you too,” Viktor responds, his hands settling at Yuuri’s hips. His touch is so warm that Yuuri has to kiss him again, fingers brushing against his scalp, and Viktor moans again. When Yuuri pulls back, his eyes are closed, silver lashes long and elegant against his pale skin; he’s so beautiful. Yuuri kisses his cheeks, too, caught up for a moment in the way the lamplight shines on his husband’s hair, and then he sighs and straddles his lap.

He’s going to settle down onto Viktor’s cock, his core throbbing in anticipation, when he looks down and squints. It’s… a little blurry, and he can’t quite see what he’s doing. “Hm.”

“What is it, my love?” Viktor asks, voice low in a way that sends all of the heat in Yuuri’s body rushing south.

Yuuri flushes and ducks his head. “I… don’t have my glasses on. Help?”

Viktor blinks. Then he breaks into a laugh, both amusement and affection spilling from his mind, and Yuuri is about to put on his most disgruntled pout when Viktor’s hands take a firmer grip on his hips, guiding him down properly, and then _oh,_ oh, that’s _good._ God, he loves having Viktor in him, loves the slight stretch and how deliciously full he feels, loves seeing Viktor’s eyes fill with pleasure as he settles over him.

“Mmm, sunflower,” Viktor breathes, wrapping his arms around Yuuri and pressing him flush against his chest again. Yuuri slides his arms around his shoulders and lets out a soft breath, getting used to the feeling of his husband inside him, and closes his eyes in bliss. He can feel Viktor’s pleasure radiating from his mind, mingling with his own until he’s no longer quite sure where he ends and Viktor begins, and he loves it.

“Vitya,” Yuuri breathes in reply. He threads his fingers through Viktor’s hair again, scrunching them back and forth against his scalp, and Viktor hums his approval even as he turns to press a series of soft kisses from Yuuri’s throat down to his shoulder and along his collarbone. “Ah…”

“You’re so beautiful,” Viktor murmurs, lips brushing against Yuuri’s skin as he speaks. “You’re okay, honey?”

“Better than okay,” Yuuri sighs, running his hands down from Viktor’s hair to his shoulders and over the firm muscles of his back. He wants to make Viktor feel just as good as Viktor makes him feel, wants to make him feel just as cherished and safe and happy, wants to get him to lose himself in bliss and not hold back. “You?”

Viktor’s chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Absolutely wonderful, my love.”

“Good.” Yuuri rubs his back for a few more seconds before he straightens up, experimentally rocking his hips back and forth, and Viktor’s cock slides out and back in. Both of them gasp, and then Yuuri laughs softly and cups his husband’s cheeks and kisses him again. The desperation from all of Viktor’s fingering remains, but it’s tempered now, by his determination to make this just as good for Viktor, and it comes out in this kiss—passionate and messy and hot. Yuuri rocks his hips again, hand cupping Viktor’s jaw, and Viktor moans louder than ever, breaking away to catch his breath.

“ _Yuuri_ ,” he moans, eyelashes fluttering as he looks up, unguarded and loving. “Oh, god.”

“Mmm,” Yuuri croons, nuzzling his nose and pressing a tiny kiss to its tip. “You’re cute. I love—ah—I love seeing you like this…”

As he speaks, he lets one of his hands slide down between them, pressed against Viktor’s chest, until his questing fingers find one of his husband’s nipples. Viktor stiffens when he brushes his thumb over it, and he cries out when Yuuri’s fingers give it a light pinch. His face is flushed red, his eyes a starkly contrasting blue, and god, he’s beautiful. He has such sensitive nipples, far more sensitive than Yuuri’s, and tweaking and playing with them while they make love always makes him let out the most delightful sounds.

(Well, he says “always”, but this is only the fifth time they’ve done this. Still, all four times before have had the same result.)

“Like that?” he murmurs, low and sultry as he mouths at the shell of Viktor’s ear and rocks his hips again, setting a slow and steady pace.

“ _Fuck_ , yes.” Viktor’s breath shudders out of him as Yuuri rolls his hips again, clenching a little just to make him gasp. “Yuuri, oh my god…”

“I’m—mmm—I’m glad, my Vitya.” Yuuri slips his other hand down between their chests too, pinching Viktor’s other nipple and rolling it between his fingers. Viktor moans, long and low, as Yuuri keeps playing with his chest and rolling his hips, feeling him slide in and out, in and out, and his hands wander frantically over Yuuri’s back. Fuck, he feels so good, moving inside Yuuri, rubbing against his dick…

“All yours, all yours, all yours,” Viktor babbles, eyes squeezed shut. God, his nipples are so sensitive—it’s amazing what Yuuri can do to him just like this, with just his fingers on his chest. _Fuck_. He’s beautiful.

Yuuri starts to move faster, his chest heaving from the combination of ecstasy and exertion, and kisses Viktor’s cheeks. “Yes, yes, yes…”

“Yuuri,” Viktor moans. “Yuuri, I love you so much, Yuuri, yes, please, please, sweetheart…”

“I’ve got you,” Yuuri breathes, pinching his nipple and kissing him hard. He picks up the pace again as that pleasure starts to build between his legs again, a warmth that grows, nestled inside him where Viktor keeps pumpking in and out and stretching him and rubbing against his inner walls and _ohhh, fuck,_ he’s close, he’s getting really close, and mmm but he has to make sure it’s good for Viktor, too.

“Got you too,” Viktor breathes, pressing a sloppy kiss to his jaw. “Love you, love you.”

“I love you too,” Yuuri manages, his breaths shuddering as he lets go of Viktor’s nipples to clutch at his shoulders, anchoring himself. “My Vitya, my Vitya, oh you feel so good.”

Yuuri has a fast, hard rhythm going by now, and Viktor moans desperately, burying his face in Yuuri’s neck and trailing kisses along the underside of his jaw. “Yuuri, my darling, dearest heart, my sunflower—Yuuri, I’m close, I’m close…”

“Good,” Yuuri breathes, because he’s been holding himself near the edge for several seconds now and it’s incredible but infuriating. He twines the fingers of one hand in his husband’s hair again, increasing his pace. “Good, don’t hold back, I want you to come…”

“Yuuri,” Viktor begs raggedly, arms tightening around him. It’s amazing how fast he comes undone, once Yuuri starts touching him; later, Yuuri knows he’s going to kiss him, tease him for being easy, and soak up his laughter like sunshine. Right now, though, he bounces on his husband’s dick and clutches at him, moaning again because god, he’s found the right angle to get Viktor’s cock to hit his g-spot on each thrust, and fuckfuckfuck it feels good.

The pleasure builds in his core, increasing with each thrust, and Yuuri gasps for breath as it grows and his legs start to shake, wrapped around Viktor as they are. Viktor presses messy, frantic kisses to his neck and his shoulder, and Yuuri slips one hand down and keeps playing with his nipple, squeezing his eyes shut in ecstasy. He’s gonna come any second now and oh god he’s so close he’s so close and god Vitya makes him feel so _good_ and oh _fuck_ he’s gonna—

He cries out as he comes, golden warmth bursting out from between his legs and spreading like wildfire through all his limbs. It might be a cry of Viktor’s name, or it might be wordless noise; he can’t tell, caught up in waves of shuddering pleasure that keep rolling through him, on and on and on, until slowly all of it fades, and finally the world comes back into view.

Viktor came, too, he realizes. Viktor probably came because of Yuuri clenching up around him. Now he’s still, smiling and radiating contentment, and Yuuri slumps bonelessly against him and pants for breath.

“My Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs, rubbing his back with a slow and gentle hand. “My sweet Yuuri.”

“I love you,” Yuuri mumbles, eyes closed. Viktor is warm. Now that the sweat is starting to dry on his skin, he’s a little cold, so he readily welcomes the heat of his husband’s touch. “Mmm…”

“I love you too.” Viktor kisses his neck again. “My darling. My love. My heart.”

Cozy and content and cherished to the core, Yuuri lifts his head from his shoulder and kisses him again, soft and mellow this time. How did he manage to marry a man this loving, this sweet, this perfect? Oh, he _adores_ his Vitya. Kissing him always feels like coming home.

“Honey, can you move for a second?” Viktor murmurs, caressing his cheek with a tender hand. “Let me pull out, and then we can go clean up.”

“That’s more than a second,” Yuuri grumbles. but he sighs and starts to disentangle himself. Viktor’s cock is already softening inside him, and he slowly lifts off it with a little wet sound. It flops over as he pulls away, and he can’t help but giggle.

“Are you laughing at my dick?” Viktor asks, playfully tweaking his nose. “It’s a very serious dick, you know. Kingly, you might say.”

Yuuri laughs into his hands as Viktor pulls him close to his chest and kisses the top of his head, smiling. “Would I ever laugh at your dick, dearest?”

“Well, clearly you would,” Viktor answers, kissing his head again. “Mwah! You’re lucky I love you so much. Mwah! Mwah! You little scoundrel…”

Yuuri tucks his head under his chin, laughing again as Viktor rubs his cheek against his hair. He feels so safe and happy, snuggled up to Viktor’s chest as Viktor lies back against the pillows, and he never ever wants to move. They could fall asleep right here. Just like this. “I love you too, Vitya!”

“Yuuuuuuri,” Viktor sighs, giving him a tight squeeze and rocking him back and forth. “You’re so cute. I loooove youuuu!”

“You’re warm,” Yuuri mumbles, closing his eyes. “Cozy. I’m never moving again.”

“Tough luck, my darling.” Viktor’s chuckle rumbles in his chest, and Yuuri smiles, pressing his lips to his husband’s neck for a few seconds. “You’ll have to. I’m not going to sleep all sweaty like this.”

“Mmmnnnnoooooo,” Yuuri protests, tightening his arms about his waist. “Vitya noooooo. No moving.”

“If you hadn’t wounded my dick’s dignity—my dicknity, if you will—I’d be more inclined to listen,” Viktor says, “but as it is…”

Yuuri lets out a snort that bubbles into a laugh. “Oh my god.”

Viktor kisses the top of his head and hums, so happy and content that Yuuri could curl up in the warmth of his emotions and bask forever. “We can cuddle a little longer, don’t worry. But if you fall asleep on me, I will have to wake you up so I can get to the shower.”

“Deal,” Yuuri sighs. He just wants to cuddle, that’s all. He feels sated and so content that his limbs are leaden. He’s going to sleep well tonight, for sure. “Mmm… should we do this more often?”

Viktor runs his fingers over the bumps in Yuuri’s spine, hand resting near the small of his back. “We could. Do you want to, sunflower?”

Insecurity creeps in, and Yuuri presses a little closer to him. “I mean… it’s. It’s nice? It’s fun and it feels good, so we _could,_ and you know… I like making you feel good?”

“Hmmm,” Viktor muses, leaning his head back into the pillows. Yuuri buries his face in his neck. “Now, I could be wrong, but it sounds to me like you’re trying to convince yourself why we should have sex more often.”

“I’m not!” Yuuri protests, face flushing with shame. Why is he ashamed? There’s nothing to be ashamed about when it comes to wanting to please his husband! He isn’t suggesting something _wrong!_ “I just, you know, if you want it, I would feel bad ignoring that desire, and—”

“We aren’t going to have sex if only one of us is in the mood, Yuuri,” Viktor says, voice a little flat. “That’s not how this works. What this is about is—it’s about _both_ of us. That’s why I also refer to it as me, making love to you, not just—Yuuri, if you wanted sex and I didn’t, would you want me to say, ‘Oh, yeah, sure, I can lie here and you can do whatever’?”

Yuuri balks. “That’s—no, but that’s different!”

Viktor snorts, but he takes the edge off his cynicism by tracing a heart into Yuuri’s hip. “How is that different?”

Yuuri flounders for a moment. “I—because it’s—I’m the one who’s never really in the mood except sometimes, and it’s not fair to you that if you have more of a need for it than I do, I just deprive you of it and—”

“Oh,” Viktor breathes, suddenly squeezing Yuuri fiercely tight. “Oh, _that’s_ where this is coming from.”

“It is?” Yuuri mumbles.

Viktor presses him closer. “Oh, Yuuri, sweetheart, sunflower, my _darling,_ you’re my husband, not a—not a blow-up sex doll, or something like that, that I can shove under the bed when I’m not using it. You’re my _husband_. And whatever you give me, whatever you _want_ to give me, freely offered, is enough. More than enough. I promise, okay?”

Yuuri lets that sink in for a few heartbeats, just clings to his husband and feels the beating of his heart and the warmth of his skin and the assurance of his love, pressing against his mind from all sides, and breathes. “You know, I… I didn’t put it together myself until just now? That… that why I was thinking we should… have sex more often, because I was afraid of you getting tired of me?”

“I told you before our wedding,” Viktor murmurs, rubbing his back, “and I can tell you as many times as you need: even if you don’t ever feel comfortable with us having sex again, I love you, and that’s okay with me. Okay, honey?”

“You’re positive?” Yuuri shifts, presses his cheek into Viktor’s shoulder, and looks up at him, brows knitted together.

Viktor gives him a tender, adoring look, then kisses his forehead. “Yes, my love. Positive.”

Yuuri lets out a slow breath. “I guess… some part of me just thought, everyone says most people who are in love and happily married _should_ have a good sex life, but we’ve been married nearly ten months and only had sex five times, and…”

“And so you were insecure,” Viktor murmurs, filling in when he trails off. “That makes sense, but Yuuuuri. Since when are you and I ‘most people’?” He smiles, kissing Yuuri’s hair again. “You know I always love doing the unexpected.”

That gets a laugh, and Yuuri sinks against him as the tension drains from his body. “Right, right. Okay.”

Viktor hums and rubs his back again, up and down. Then he sighs, something apprehensive entering his mental landscape. “Darling, just now… was that something you actually wanted, or did you want to offer sex because you were feeling insecure?”

“I wanted that,” Yuuri is quick to assure, sitting up in his arms and looking at him with wide eyes. “I—no, I definitely wanted it, I just. I was just thinking, right now. I guess it’s been in the back of my mind and I was, um. I was relieved that I found myself in the mood? But I wanted it, I… yeah. I wanted it a lot.”

Viktor’s relief is a cool breeze through his mind. “Okay. Good.”

Yuuri takes his hand, feeling kind of shy as he intertwines their fingers and pulls Viktor’s hand to his chest. “I mean. You… always make me feel really, really good? So it’s… nice. And just now was really good, too.”

“I’m glad,” Viktor murmurs, kissing his hair and holding him tighter. He pulls his legs up, too, cradling Yuuri’s hips between them, and Yuuri lets out a slow breath and relaxes into his chest, feeling safe, safe, safe. “I love you, Yuurasha, and that means I never want to touch you in any way that you don’t actively want, okay?”

“Okay.” Yuuri kisses his knuckles, and Viktor squeezes his hand, thinking _I love you_ so hard that it sends Yuuri a wave of affection. “I love you, too.”

“And it doesn’t matter what most people say or do,” Viktor continues softly. He nuzzles his face into Yuuri’s hair, quiet for a moment, then adds, “We’re us, not some collective ‘most people’, whoever they all are. So all that matters to us, my love, is what works for us. If having sex every few weeks is what works for us, then we don’t need to change it just because of what someone else does.”

“And that’s okay with you, and it’s not you just… settling?” Yuuri asks, very quiet. “Be honest—if it does disappoint you, I want to know. Please.”

“It’s okay with me,” Viktor murmurs, lips still pressed to Yuuri’s hair. “And you’ve never once disappointed me, sunflower. Not once.”

Yuuri’s heart warms and melts, but his mind is still worried that this is too good to be true, so he fidgets. “But—”

“Yuuri,” Viktor cuts in gently, and then he lets out a breathy laugh. “Sweetheart, not to be crass—is it crass if ten minutes ago you were riding my dick?—but to be completely and utterly frank, if I ever have a day where I’m so incredibly horny that I can’t ignore it but you aren’t in the mood to have sex, I can just take care of it on my own, you know.”

Yuuri lets out a bark of surprised laughter and ducks his head, a little embarrassed. “Okay, okay, fair point!” he manages, still laughing as Viktor tips his chin up and press one, two, three, four, five kisses to his cheeks and nose. “Mm—Vitya!”

“I have to make sure my adorable husband knows I adore him,” Viktor croons, smiling against Yuuri’s jaw as he peppers kisses along it, too. “Mmm, my husband is so lovely and delightful and cute! Wow! And I love him!”

“I love _my_ husband, too,” Yuuri giggles, cupping his cheeks and pressing their foreheads together. “What a coincidence?”

Viktor kisses him, slow and sweet and gentle, and Yuuri melts into his arms, blissful. Viktor deepens the kiss, stroking his thumb along the curve of Yuuri’s cheek, and Yuuri sighs, pleased as ever by how soft Viktor’s lips are, how pliant and lovely and warm.

“So, my love,” Viktor murmurs, breaking the kiss but not pulling away. His voice is low and rumbly and intimate, and his smile is a smile meant for Yuuri alone, and it tugs at Yuuri’s heart and makes it sing, dance, and yearn to leap from his chest into Viktor’s to be even closer to him. “Shall we clean up and then call it a night?”

“Mmm,” Yuuri sighs, tipping his chin up to kiss him again. “I guess so. So much for a movie,” he adds, glancing ruefully at the credits rolling on the screen, and Viktor laughs. Yuuri smiles against his cheek. “I can wash your hair?”

“And I can wash yours.” Viktor gives him a quick kiss, then pulls back and sits up, dislodging Yuuri against his chest. He sits for a moment, sighs, then disentangles himself from Yuuri and stands up, stretching. “Come on, darling. Let’s go.”

“Fine,” Yuuri sighs back, because there’s no point in staying in bed if his space heater has left. But Viktor smiles so lovingly that as he takes his husband’s offered hand, Yuuri can’t help but smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP HERE IT IS BABY'S FIRST PORN pls go easy on me jshdkjhg
> 
> also: i know several people felt validated by the idea of ace yuuri and viktor in an intimate romantic relationship without necessarily having sex, and to those of you - consider this chapter an au of the main au, kinda like chapter 2, if you would like to! i absolutely don't want to make anyone feel invalidated about their interpretation of trfl yuuri's asexuality. ♥


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